


Freelance Good Guys: The Shadow Sector

by TheGreys (alienjpeg)



Series: Looming Gaia [5]
Category: Freelance Good Guys, Looming Gaia
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Body Horror, Child Abuse, Drug Abuse, Elves, Fantasy, Magic, Mental Health Issues, Misgendering, Nonbinary Character, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 00:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienjpeg/pseuds/TheGreys
Summary: Jeimos is a red elf, born and raised in the oppressive Damijana Empire. Jeimos has a promising future in astrophysics if only they can stay out of trouble. But they soon discover that there is plenty of trouble to be found, even within the safe iron walls of their empire. Between their father's absence and their mother's madness, will this gifted elf ever make it to the stars? Or will they sink down into the grimy Shadow Sector, never to see the sky again?





	1. Acid Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Go here for lore, concept art, and more from the world of Looming Gaia: http://mythicalshoes.tumblr.com/post/165447246045/looming-gaia-lore-masterpost

##  **[CHAPTER 1: ACID RAIN]**

 

     The Damijana Empire stretched high into the sky and higher by the century. It reached blindly through the brown haze of smog, grasping for the stars twinkling above. But the stars had always eluded Chieftess Serafeen, and always would unless she brought in new minds to make Project Starlight a reality.

 

     Her people doubted her when she announced plans to expand their empire to the moon. Had their leader lost her mind? Was this really a wise use of their taxes—building a portal to _space_? But the Damijani would never express their doubt aloud, for they would surely be banished to the terrifying world outside these safe, iron walls.

 

     Tarajeen Paramonimos, however, believed in Project Starlight with all her heart and soul. She was a brilliant physicist of 76 years old. If she were human or dworf, her hair would be white and her skin would be as old worn leather. But she was a red elf in the summer of her life, married to a technician named Ojio, and together they had a child whom they named Kaseen Jeimos Paramonimos.

 

     Pressure weighed down on Kaseen from the day she was born, for her parents were both affluent geniuses and loyal friends to Chieftess Serafeen. They expected the same greatness from Kaseen and so the child’s schedule was bursting from dawn to dusk. Extra schooling, after school tutoring, piano lessons, arcane training, multiple language courses…If there were any opportunities to expand their child’s mind, the Paramonimos couple seized it with no regards to Kaseen’s feelings.

 

     And Kaseen _hated_ it. Every day her hands trembled with anxiety, her busy brain overthinking every detail, longing for freedom as a caged bird longed to fly. But like a true Damijani citizen, Kaseen did not voice her doubt and dissatisfaction. She kept her mouth shut like everyone else, held her feelings inside and praised the empire, as she had been told time and time again that freedom was the heaviest burden of all.

 

*

 

_SPRING, 5952_

 

     The red sun pierced itself upon the silhouette of the Iron Spire. That’s when the bells tolled and Kaseen rushed down the steps of her university in a flurry of black robes and spilling books. These robes covered her russet skin from neck-to-toe and her long hair was a mess of rust-colored curls.

 

     The other students stepped out in orderly lines, chatting and laughing together as Kaseen rushed passed them. She had no time to chat, no time for friends at all. All she had was the fat stack of books slipping away under her arm and two minutes to get to her arcane lessons in the Star Sector.

 

     Damijana was taller than it was wide, and so it was divided into vertical tiers. The streets at the very bottom were shrouded in the shadows of the upper levels, where all the grime and refuse trickled down, where all the fumes collected and the poorest residents dwelled. This place was called the “Shadow Sector” and it crawled with grunt workers, criminals, and vagrants.

 

     Above that was the “Middle Sector”, where Damijana’s working class bustled through their lives under the watchful eye of the Damijana Guard. Here there was little luxury but little hardship, and so the people were just complacent enough to live in the shadow of the “Sun Sector”.

 

     The Sun Sector was the place Kaseen’s family had always called home as they overlooked the monochrome streets below. Black and gray, gray and black—those were the colors of Damijana against the sickly yellow sky. Just above them was the topmost tier of the city where families even more prominent than the Paramonimoses enjoyed the full open sky and a brilliant view of the Eastern Sea.

 

     “One day the Star Sector will know the Paramonimos name,” Kaseen’s mother told her. “But only if you take your education seriously! Our future depends on you, Kaseen.” And so the young red elf did their best day after day, anxious to please and terrified to disappoint. Her future, should she succeed, was as bright as the stars shining high above the oppressive smog.

 

     Kaseen ran across hanging walkways that extended from building to building, dodging the crowds before her. They regarded her with silent sneers of contempt as she pushed passed, every one of them clad in modest black garb. From a distance these crowds looked like oil oozing through tubes.

 

     The elevator was just ahead, packed to the brim with people. The door was closing and Kaseen could not afford the minutes, so she wrenched a book from under her arm and pitched it along the ground. It went spinning, sliding along the black concrete until it was caught between the doors.

 

     The passengers’ flame-orange eyes glared as Kaseen jumped in and squeezed between them. “Sorry. Very sorry. So sorry,” she panted as she yanked the book free. The doors finally clunked shut. Kaseen was pressed between them a dozen other red elves for a full minute while the elevator ascended.

 

     Kaseen took the moment to catch her breath, closed her eyes and listened to the screeching, clanging metal of the elevator. The hiss of the big pipes which cooled the buildings with seawater. The murmur of the other passengers and the buzz of the electrical lines all around. Her heart pounded above it all, deafening in her ears.

 

     The moment the doors cracked open, Kaseen slipped her scrawny body through and bolted down the open walkway. To look over the railing was dizzying. The Star Sector was so high in the sky, if it were any higher the residents would struggle for oxygen.

 

     Kaseen was struggling for oxygen regardless as she finally reached the Arcanum. The building was a burst of color among Damijana’s endless sea of black towers, with its tall windows of stained glass that seemed to glow in the sun. Kaseen clutched her thumping chest as she hurried up the stairs and through the massive double-doors.

 

     The other buildings in Damijana were made of concrete and iron. The Arcanum was instead constructed from bricks of white, glittering quartz. It had to be, for this was a university of magic and nothing repelled magic’s power like iron. The shiny white floors glittered like snow. Chandeliers made from stained glass shards dangled from the ceiling, their colorful reflections dancing upon the surface.

 

     The Arcanum was one of the few places in all of Damijana where plants could grow, and only by the brute force of magic. Fat flowers and lush purple trees lined every hall. Kaseen passed them without a second glance, eyes locked onto the door at the end of the hallway.

 

     She reached for the brass knob and her hand trembled so violently, she missed twice before getting a grasp on it. The door opened to a classroom with no desks, only ten cloth mats on the floor before a podium. Behind the podium was a black chalkboard, where the head mage was erasing old sigils from yesterday.

 

     Students were still taking their seats on the mats. Kaseen let out a long sigh, nearly collapsing onto hers. There were nine schools of magic. If it were up to Kaseen, she’d be studying the school of transmutation. Then she could turn herself into a bird and fly to the stars.

 

     Instead, her parents pushed her towards teleportation. It was the riskiest and most complex type of magic, but Tarajeen and Ojio insisted that the next 20 years of study would yield the highest reward. Kaseen wouldn’t see graduation until she was in her 40’s, and that was assuming she passed all of her courses!

 

     So Kaseen listened intently to the head mage’s lecture, grew annoyed at the slacker balancing a pencil on his lip beside her, tried to ignore the way her heart still thumped in her chest. The head mage was drawing a sigil on the board, like a crescent moon with its points towards the sky. She added two circles on either side and a line connecting them.

 

     Kaseen copied it carefully on her notepad. It was a basic teleportation sigil, and if drawn correctly it could instantly transport matter through dimensions. But if just one line was out of place, if one segment was not precise, that matter could be ripped apart to its barest atoms or lost in another plane of reality entirely.

 

     It was facts like these which made Kaseen’s hands shake, and how cruel when she was trying to get these lines just right! This sigil was only the most basic, fit for perhaps teleporting a little marble across the room. Moving more complex matter across larger distances required bigger, more intricate sigils.

 

     These sigils were like equations. They could take days, months, or even years to complete. Three pages back in her notebook, Kaseen had been working on one since the start of the year. If she could teleport a live frog into a jar without smearing the poor thing across space and time, she would pass her first semester.

 

     The head mage was a red elf probably well over a hundred years old, as wrinkles were just beginning to carve themselves under her eyes. Her crimson hair was pulled up and hidden under a conical hat with a wide brim, body draped in velvety black robes patterned with stars. Only master mages earned this uniform, and they took pride in it no matter how much the young folks snickered.

 

     “I want someone to demonstrate how to place an addition nodule into a sigil,” she said. “For example, how to teleport water with its glass, or how to teleport someone without leaving their clothes behind.” Her gaze flicked to Kaseen and a tiny smile crossed her lips. “Kaseen, my star novice! Come to the board, will you?”

 

     Anxiety closed the young elf’s throat. She offered a simple nod as she staggered to her feet and approached the board. The head mage handed off the stick of chalk and stood to the side. Kaseen swallowed the lump in her throat, took a deep breath and glanced back at the class.

 

     Those that weren’t asleep or doodling in the margins of their notebooks were looking right at her, their eyes like hot stokers burning a hole right through her confidence. Not that she had much to begin with, star pupil or not, for stars were always burning in a constant state of unrest.

 

     So too was Kaseen, raising her shaking hand to the board. She knew how to do this. Or at least she had ten seconds ago, but in an instant it seemed she’d completely forgotten. Now the chalk was hovering there, lightly clattering against the board with the trembling of her grip.

 

     Sweat beaded upon her brow. The quake spread down her body, rattled her knees like a building about to collapse. And that’s exactly what happened when the elf’s eyes suddenly rolled back into her head and her legs folded forward. The class gasped as she went down. The head mage bolted forth to catch her, but it all happened too quickly.

 

     Kaseen’s skull hit the floor. Flecks of blood splattered across the glittering white tile.

 

*

 

     Streetlamps flickered to life as the day disappeared below the horizon of the Eastern Sea. Ojio pushed his daughter’s wheelchair out of the monorail and into an elevator, Tarajeen punching the button as she barked, “Low blood sugar, Kaseen? Truly? Did you really get two stitches in your head just because you _forgot lunch_?”

 

     Her daughter groaned, dragging slim palms down her face in shame. “I’m sorry, Mum. I was afraid I’d be late for my class!”

“What if you had gotten brain damage?” Tarajeen turned to Ojio, an elf close to her age with a pointed nose and round spectacles that sat upon it. His curly red hair was bound in a ponytail. “ _Amro_ , tell her what happens to people who are sick in the head!”

Ojio replied simply, “Banished to the outside.”

 

     Tarajeen turned back to Kaseen, gave her a light slap on the shoulder. “That’s right!” she said. “And there is nothing for you outside Damijana! Your whole future lies right there in the Iron Spire,” she pointed to the massive tower shrouding the moon, looming ominously over everything else in the city, “and if you’re banished, guess what? No future for you _or_ our family!”

 

     “Don’t you think I know that?” Kaseen sniffled, wiping at the tears welling in her eyes.

Her father told her, “No more foolishness from now on, Kay. We’re risking everything for your education, and the only way it’ll pay off is if you take it seriously. Your ancestors spent generations clawing our name out of the Shadow Sector. Don’t be the one to drag us back down!”

 

     His wife nodded and huffed in agreement. She stood a bit taller than Ojio, with gold rings in her pointed ears and her curled red hair twisted into an updo. All three of them were clad in black like everyone else in Damijana, from the boots on their feet to the gloves on their hands. ‘ _A sin to show skin below the chin’_ , as they said in these lofty sectors.

 

     The Paramonimos residence was identical to the millions of others in the same building. The only unique feature was the golden plate with their unit number above the door. Ojio pushed the wheelchair through the doorway and then he and Tarajeen helped their dizzy child to bed.

 

     Unlike the drab exterior, the interior of the unit was a kaleidoscope of colorful furniture, rugs, and tapestries. The front door opened to a sitting area with four cushions sitting around a low, round table. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, so stuffed with literature that some books had no other place but the floor.

 

     The whole unit was pristine, not a speck of dust to be found. Kaseen’s parents walked her to her bedroom, pillows and stuffed animals cascading overboard as she flopped onto the mattress. The medicine was wearing off. Her head was pounding and the world spun beneath her like a carousel. She would surely miss a couple days of school, at least.

 

     And such a thought made her chest feel tight again when she realized how much harder she’d have to work to catch up. She was already at her limit, so how could she possibly do better? This would rise above her head and drown her! It was all too much and now her future lie in the gutter, all because of her own stupidity!

 

     Kaseen threw her hands over her face, years worth of tears suddenly spilling over in great, heaving sobs. Her parents’ scowls softened above her. They shared concerned glances, and then they were sitting on her bedside. Tarajeen placed a gentle hand on her daughter’s quaking shoulder.

 

     After a moment of consideration, she said, “This family is nothing if not clever. We’ll put our minds together and find a way to overcome this. Won’t we, _Amro_?”

She flicked her gaze to Ojio, whose eyebrows shot up as he blurted, “Eh, yes! Of course. We aren’t angry with you, Kaseen. We are only, uh…”

 

     “We’re _scared_ ,” finished Tarajeen, giving Kaseen’s hand a squeeze. “We’re scared for you because we _love_ you. You are our one and only child, and we just want you to succeed.” She frowned, let out a sigh. “It’s so very easy to lose your way in this place, and once you’ve lost yourself, you’ve lost everything.”

 

     Ojio added, “Yes, it’s true! Just look at your cousin, Lorio. He worked for so many years to climb to the top of that company, and all it took was one bad decision to throw it all away. Now he’s slumming around in the Shadow Sector, doing who-knows-what just for a bit of pyre dust. That’s all he aspires to anymore, that damnable drug and nothing else!”

 

     He shook his head and went on, “That will not be your future. Not under our watch. We’ll do everything in our power to help you succeed.” Kaseen drew in a long, shuddering breath and let it out slow. She dried her leaking face with the balls of her hands, soaking her thin black gloves.

 

     Then with a sniffle, she croaked, “Thank you. I’ll do my best, I-I promise.” Tarajeen smiled and stroked her child’s forehead, brushing away the curtain of curls.

 

     “One day,” she began, “you’ll be working alongside me in the Iron Spire, and I swear all this pain will feel like a dream. Think about it, Kay! Project Starlight could take Damijana to the moon itself and you’ll be part of it—the greatest accomplishment in the history of Looming Gaia!”

 

     Kaseen blindly reached to her side, grabbed the first soft thing that squished in her hand. She hugged a stuffed monkey to her chest as she sighed, “Assuming I don’t crack my bloody head open before I get there…”

 

     “You’ll do no such thing,” Tarajeen told her. “You’re bright as the stars themselves, and so you’re destined to be among them.”

 

*

 

     The concept of “relaxing” was foreign to the Paramonimos household. When Tarajeen wasn’t slaving over Project Starlight, she was working as a spy for the Damijana Guard. She was one of the many Eyes of the Empire, loyal citizens who patrolled the city in search of criminals and traitors.

 

     This was a place for red elves and no one else. Other peoples were not permitted to own property here and just getting through the city walls was a bureaucratic nightmare. A little bribery could grease the wheels, however, and that’s where Tarajeen came in.

 

     Today she donned some ratty garb and walked her rounds in the Shadow Sector. She questioned every foreigner she passed, stuck her nose deep in the city’s underbelly and mined for shady names. Whatever she found would be taken to the Guard and her reputation with the empire would grow ever stronger.

 

     As for Ojio, he spent his weekdays designing automatons. He designed systems that were unique to Damijana, complex blends of magic and machine that the outside world had yet to grasp. But he was not adventurous and nosy like his wife, so his weekends were spent holed up in the den where he tinkered with personal projects.

 

     He was shut away in that den for so long, Kaseen forgot he was still home as she recovered from her fall. The family’s housekeeper, Felice, had been sent to retrieve her coursework from her classes all over town. Hours later, Felice returned and set a hefty stack of books and folders on Kaseen’s night table.

 

     “Is that all, Jeimos?” she queried. She was a portly human perhaps in her 50’s, with golden bronze skin and graying hair cut into a bob. Her lips were always smiling, squished between fat cheeks. Kaseen hadn’t left her bed since yesterday, and there she still lie boneless among equally boneless stuffed animals.

 

     It was not pain or dizziness that kept her there now, but sheer exhaustion, for this was the first time she’d gotten a full night’s sleep in years. “Yes, thank you,” she replied. “Oh, did you get that, um… _Other_ book I requested?”

Felice tipped her head, whispered, “Of course. And I will not speak of it to your parents, you have my word.”

 

     Once the housekeeper left, Kaseen searched through the stack for a weighty book titled “ _Transmutation: From Shape to Shape_ ”. She’d given it a peek at the library many times. Actually checking it out, though, she could never find the courage. What would the librarians think? The Paramonimos family was so prominent, would they gossip?

 

     But Felice had always been there for her when her parents were too busy, had always cared for Kaseen since she was a baby. Felice fed Kaseen from a bottle while Tarajeen stalked foreigners in the Shadow Sector. She taught Kaseen to walk while Ojio fumbled with contraptions in the den. And when Kaseen was too young to traverse Damijana alone, it was Felice who safely guided her from class to class.

 

     Felice knew the Paramonimos child better than her own parents. So well, that she knew Kaseen’s true name was not “Kaseen” at all. It was “Jeimos” and Jeimos did not consider themselves elfann or elfenne, but something in-between.

 

     Simply, an elf. It had been that way for years and still Jeimos’ parents were none the wiser.

 

     Society in Damijana was rigid, binary, logical. Black or white, do or don’t, pass or fail. There was no room for in-betweens—Jeimos’ culture just wouldn’t accept it. So the elf kept their abstract thoughts between themselves and Felice, lest the Guard label them “headsick” and banish them to the wasteland.

 

     This book was only for beginners. One day Jeimos hoped to change their body to reflect their mind, but for now the best they could do was experiment on their poor stuffed animals. Ribbon Bear had a bright yellow coat once. Now it was covered in mold-green blotches and the ribbon on its head had frayed into curling tentacles.

 

     Snorkel the Shark grew a smaller shark out of its head, Mister Monkey was covered in extra eyeballs, Kitty Kat’s limbs shrank to nubs, and at this point Jeimos was longing for a mentor. They would cram one more class into their schedule, stay awake forever and run themselves into the ground to learn transmutation magic from a professional.

 

     But the Paramonimoses were already hemorrhaging coin on Jeimos’ teleportation lessons. To make such a request would definitely raise questions that Jeimos couldn’t dodge, for elves were fae and fae could not speak anything they knew to be untrue. Not like humans. Not like Felice, who could lie through her teeth on Jeimos’ behalf.

 

     The elf drew a sigil in their notepad, carefully added the finishing touches before tearing the page out. They placed it on the floor, then pricked their fingertip with the end of their fountain pen. They touched the center of the sigil, left a dot of blood before placing a little stuffed seal upon it.

 

     If they did this right, Sally the Seal would change from blue to green. Simple, as basic as a spell could get. Or so Jeimos thought, as they rubbed their magical hands together and charged the sigil. The ink lit up and light burst from the page, enveloping the seal.

 

     Jeimos stood back, squinted at the ball of light churning before them. After less than a minute, it dispersed like a firework with a loud “ _pop_!” Stuffing scattered all over the room, and lying on the sigil was floppy sealskin. The elf let out a miserable sigh and palmed at their face.

 

     Seconds later, they nearly jumped out of their _own_ skin when the door flew open. Ojio stood on the other side, adjusting his spectacles as he examined the explosion of stuffing. Jeimos froze. Their teeth clenched, hands clasped tightly behind their back.

 

     “Kay, what’s all the noise? What are you doing in here?” asked Ojio. Jeimos floundered for a moment.

Their shoulders jumped with their vague reply, “Just practicing my magic. I’m sorry, I’ll try to be quieter.”

“Ah.” Ojio waved his hand dismissively. “Well, if it’s for your lessons then don’t fret. Just be careful. Don’t hurt yourself or burn the place down!”

 

     “Okay. You too, Dad.” Jeimos smiled. Their father looked at them, then shook his head to hide his grin.

“Right,” he said, and then he disappeared behind the door. Jeimos’ shoulders slumped with their heavy sigh. They picked up poor Sally’s remains, turning the skin over in their hands.

 

     Well, at least it was green.

 

*

 

     Two days later, Jeimos made a full recovery and returned to business as usual. This time their pockets were loaded with snacks from the vending machine at school. They wolfed them down as they rushed between appointments. Every mistake Jeimos ever made in their life—no matter how minor—would haunt them until their dying breath. It wasn’t like them to repeat the same mistake twice.

 

     Now the sun was falling on another long day. Exhausted, Jeimos slowly trudged home with a backpack on their back, two messenger bags on their shoulders, and a keyboard case in their hand. In their opposite hand was a sugary almond bar, which they ate with all the enthusiasm of a sick animal.

 

     The lights were on when they arrived home but their parents were nowhere to be found. The elf dropped their bags by the door, startled when it opened once again. But it was only Felice, who greeted them with a smile.

 

     “Welcome home, Jeimos Dear,” she said. “I’m just about finished for the day. Your parents said they were working late. I expect they won’t be home until well after dark.” She made her way to the kitchen area, divided by a wall of metal filigree. She began lining the trash bin with a fresh bag as she asked, “Dinner is in the cooler. Would you like me to heat you up a plate?”

 

     The elf dragged their backpack to the sitting area, replied, “I’m okay, Felice.” Their homework spread over the table in an avalanche of paper. The housekeeper eyeballed them from between the filigree.

“But look at you, you’re so _thin_!” she argued, already pulling a plate from the big boxy cooler. “I’m fixing you a plate anyway. I see all those junk food wrappers in the trash day after day! You aren’t eating well, Dear.”

 

     “I don’t have _time_ to eat well,” grumbled Jeimos.

Felice slipped the plate into the oven and replied, “I know it’s no fault of yours. Mister and Missus Paramonimos have you running around like a headless chicken every day of the week—how do they expect you to stay healthy? Just a couple days ago you nearly broke your head open, and if it were up to me you’d still be resting.”

 

     “My head feels fine,” Jeimos assured her. Felice wouldn’t have it.

“You Damijani never have a complaint, do you?”

“We do,” Jeimos admitted quietly. “We just don’t speak them aloud.”

 

     The woman laughed, clutching the metal divider as she leaned upon it. “Oh, if only the empire would let me, I’d adopt you for my own. I’d let you complain as much as I do.”

Jeimos cracked a smile as they scribbled something in a notebook. “Have you heard from your family lately?” they asked.

 

     “I got a letter from my daughter last week,” replied Felice. She placed her hand on her round hip and glanced at the timer on the stove. “She still can’t find work, the poor thing. If she had gotten a decent education, I’m sure she would have more options…”

 

     Her cheery expression faltered. After a pause, she continued, “I suppose that was my fault. University is so _expensive_ in Zareen Empire, almost as bad as it is here.” She shrugged, let out a faint sigh. “So I’m still sending her money every month, and with any luck she’ll keep that pitiful roof over her baby’s head.”

 

     Jeimos thought about it for a moment, then queried, “Felice, you’ve never even _seen_ your grandson yet, have you?”

The woman’s smile was strained, eyes doleful above. “Not yet, no. It’s always an ordeal to pass through these walls, even with a work permit. Sometimes I’m afraid that if I leave, they won’t let me back in!”

 

     She shook her head and continued, “But the pay is very good here for what I do. Much better than I’d be getting in Driza. I submitted my request to the Guard almost a year ago and they still haven’t decided when—or if—they’re going to let me out to see my little Sebastian.”

 

     The little bell on the oven chimed. Felice slipped her hand into an oven mitt and took out the plate, spicy vegetable wraps steaming upon it. She pushed some of Jeimos’ homework aside to make room on the table for it, slipped off her oven mitt and patted their head.

 

     The food looked even more amazing than it smelled. Jeimos didn’t last long before the chopsticks were between their fingers and their mouth was stuffed. “Thank you, Felice,” they said. “You were right. I guess I _was_ hungry.” The housekeeper returned to the kitchen, tossed the oven mitt back on the counter.

 

     “What would you do without me, Jeimos Paramonimos?” she jested. Even in jest, the thought made the elf shudder.

Jeimos mumbled, “Ugh, don’t make me think about it...”

 

*

 

     Every day seemed to blend into the next. Jeimos’ whole semester had been a gray slurry of text and sigils, but today would be different. This was a day of significance, a day that could make or break Jeimos’ future, for this was the day of their teleportation final.

 

     Every student in their class gathered in the testing chamber, a bare room with a single wooden table in the center. The head mage shuffled Jeimos and the others behind a crystal divider with crisscrossing iron links before it. Here they could safely watch their classmates fumble with space and time.

 

     One by one the students demonstrated their ability to teleport a frog into a glass jar. Each success was punctuated with applause, while each failure with tears and snickers. Some failures were more spectacular than others. The frogs met many a strange fate.

 

     One frog became stuck half-way through the glass, causing the jar to shatter and the poor animal to lie severed in half. Another frog successfully made it into the jar…Inside-out. One student’s frog had completely disappeared into the void, likely to reappear somewhere else in the world between 5 minutes and 500 years from now.

 

     Now it was Jeimos’ turn to sink or shine. The frog rattled in their jar as they carried it to the table in shaking hands. Their grades had been near perfect all year except for a 93% score on one test. But in this test there was no room for error, not even a measly 7%. It was all or nothing, pass or fail.

 

     Jeimos stepped up to the table, tried to ignore the scrutiny of their classmates as they removed the frog from the jar. They set it on the spot marked with tape, the jar on the other spot, placing them exactly a foot apart. The frog had been drugged beforehand like all the others, partly out of convenience and partly to minimize its suffering.

 

     The animal sat patiently while Jeimos fumbled with their notebook. Loose pages spilled out and they quickly stooped to shove them back in. Their peers laughed from behind the iron-linked glass. Sweat beaded on the elf’s brow and their stomach was turning like a wheel. Their heart raced but they would not fall and break their head open, would not make that same mistake twice.

 

     Sucking in a deep breath, Jeimos let it out slow and pulled a page from their notebook. They slipped it under the frog, tried to push through their blurred vision, the trembles in their bones and the haze in their head. Upon the page was the sigil they had been working on all semester.

 

     It was drawn in cecaelia ink of the highest quality, a complex symbol containing thousands of lines and points that accounted for everything from the weight of the frog, the size of the jar, the distance it must move, and even the estimated wind from the room’s cooling system. Jeimos had left nothing unaccounted for.

 

     The elf closed their eyes, rubbed their hands together and focused magic to their fingertips. They felt the power coursing through their veins, buzzing under their skin and pooling in their glowing hands. Silence fell over the chamber. Then Jeimos touched the sigil, charged it with magic.

 

     The ink lit up in a burst of neon light. The light enveloped the unassuming frog for about ten seconds, and in that short time Jeimos could already see something was wrong. Their heart thundered in their chest. The light finally dissipated and the frog had moved no closer to the jar, still sitting there on the parchment.

 

     Rather, something frog- _like_ was sitting there. The miserable creature had six extra legs sprouting from its body and its skin was plagued by hideous black boils. The students gasped from behind the window. Jeimos froze in horror, staring wide-eyed at the abomination as the laughter of their classmates became white noise.

 

     The frog flailed its many legs to scramble off the page, rolled off the table and hit the floor with a wet slap. Jeimos could see the error now. This wasn’t a teleportation sigil, it was a _transmutation_ sigil! Obviously they had grabbed the wrong one in their anxious haste, and both were so complex that it was impossible to tell at a glance.

 

     The elf’s knees threatened to give way. They thought for sure they’d hit the ground with their terrible creation, but then the head mage was standing behind them with a hand on their shoulder.

 

     “If this were a monster-forging test you would have passed with flying colors. But this is a test of teleportation, Ms. Paramonimos.”

 

     The head mage’s eyes flicked towards the window. “I know some of you think you’re very creative. You think you can cheat your way around a test with other schools of magic; perhaps schools you find more _exciting_ than teleportation…”

 

     She stepped away from Jeimos, hands clasped behind her back as she paced around the table. She continued, “But know that there are only two ways to cast a spell: the _right_ way and the _wrong_ way.” With that, she loomed over the froggish abomination and stamped it under her boot. She turned back to Jeimos with a frown and said, “I’m disappointed in you, Kaseen. I’ll be seeing you during summer break.”

 

*

 

     Jeimos’ parents did not take the news with grace.

 

     After hours of lecturing, emotional outbursts and a thrown vase, Tarajeen and Ojio decided their child was “grounded”. Jeimos could have laughed if they weren’t so upset. Where would they go anyway? What would they do, and who would they do it with? Their parents already kept them so busy, they never once had anyone to call a friend!

 

     All except Felice, who was cleaning up Tarajeen’s chaos in the sitting room. Jeimos was locked in their bedroom and permitted to do nothing but study until it was time for bed. Ojio made himself scarce half-way through Tarajeen and Jeimos’ argument, hiding away in his den the moment a vase shattered on the wall.

 

     As for Tarajeen, she was splashing her face with cold water in the kitchen sink. Frustrated growls came out muffled behind her hands. Felice tip-toed around her to sweep, clean the counters, and go about her usual duties.

 

     A very uncomfortable silence passed, until Tarajeen finally dried her face and said, “I don’t know what to do with that child! Have we not given her every opportunity to succeed? Have we not done everything right? She’s a brilliant prodigy, excels in everything and then fails miserably when it counts the most! Where have we gone wrong, Felice?”

 

     The housekeeper glanced at Tarajeen only briefly, saw her leaning on the counter. Her posture claimed exhaustion but the intensity on her face said otherwise. Felice absently rubbed a sponge over the counter as she replied, “Well, Miss, you must admit that Jei—” she stopped herself, cleared her throat, “—eh, _Kaseen_ has a lot going on. Perhaps quality should be considered over quantity when it comes to her education.”

 

     Another silence passed, only the whisper of the faucet as Felice rinsed out the sponge. Tarajeen squinted in thought, then replied, “You’re saying if she dropped some classes, she’d do better at the Arcanum?”

“In my humble opinion, Miss, yes.”

“But what would she be doing if not learning? She would only waste time prattling around like her peers, and look at the trouble they cause!”

 

     Tarajeen gestured vaguely towards the window and continued, “I catch those brats skipping school and wreaking havoc during every one of my patrols. I can only imagine the shame their parents must feel! But it’s their own fault, I say, for allowing their children’s hands and minds to idle.”

 

     She turned her nose up. “You don’t see my Kaseen out there with her ankles bared, sucking down pyre dust and getting in fights! No. I believe you’re wrong, Felice. It must be something else that troubles her.”

 

     A quiet sigh escaped Felice’s nostrils. She went about dusting the knick-knacks on the mantle above the fireplace. Most of them were trophies and awards dating back to Tarajeen and Ojio’s childhoods, solid proof of their great accomplishments standing as the centerpiece of the room.

 

     Tarajeen tapped her finger against her chin as she thought. “What if,” she began, “someone is sabotaging her? We’re quite a prominent family, you know. It wouldn’t surprise me if some headsick fool was trying to bring us down!” Felice turned to the elfenne, quirked an eyebrow.

 

     “Sabotaging her?” she queried.

“Yes!” replied Tarajeen, slanted orange eyes suddenly rounded like the sun. “Of course, why didn’t I think of it sooner? I bet it’s someone I work with. Someone at the Iron Spire! Those rats in Level F…Remio’s always had it out for me…I’ll get to the bottom of this…”

 

     Felice watched Tarajeen storm out of the kitchen, mumbling to herself as she slipped on her long black coat by the front door. Seconds later, she disappeared with the slam. Tarajeen had always been a bit eccentric, the housekeeper knew well, and maybe the excitement of the fight had just gotten to her.

 

     Felice shook her head. She was almost done for the night anyway.

 

*

 

     So much for summer break. Jeimos planned to spend that time practicing their transmutation spells. Now they were stuck in the Arcanum with the other flunkies, trying to stay awake while they reviewed lessons they’d already memorized by heart. Here was another mistake that would haunt them at night, but at least they knew they would never make it again.

 

     Jeimos began color-coding their sigils. It was subtle, just smudges of ink in the page’s borders that looked inconspicuous to anyone else. Only Jeimos knew that the violet ink marked teleportation and green marked transmutation. Despite this mammoth blunder they _still_ managed to keep their secret of in-betweens.

 

     Right after summer school, it was time for piano lessons. After that, language class. After that, a new robotics class that Ojio suggested and then Jeimos could finally go home. They finished their last pocket-snack on the way, returned to a hot meal from Felice before their parents sentenced them back to their room to study.

 

     Tarajeen shoved a chair beneath her child’s doorknob to lock them in, then headed out to watch the city as an Eye of Damijana. Ojio was shut in his den. Felice had left. Jeimos sat on their bed surrounded by books and coursework, staring at the city lights outside their window.

 

     The window was small and rounded with iron filigree protecting the glass. The towers outside had similar windows, most still aglow with light. Jeimos couldn’t see the sky through the Star Sector looming above, but through the blur of their exhaustion the city lights almost looked like stars.

 

     Jeimos let out a heavy sigh. They pushed their coursework to the floor in a splash of books and papers. Then they picked up a green notebook and flipped to a fresh page, began designing a new transmutation sigil for Otto sitting lifelessly beside them.

 

     Otto was a stuffed otter with a sailor’s hat sewn to its head. If Jeimos designed this sigil correctly, that sailor’s hat could become a flowery sunhat.

 

     At this rate, Jeimos was sure they’d be dead three times over by the time they perfected this magic. Morphing flesh and blood wasn’t like changing a hat. There was _so_ much more to learn. So many exceptions to make, so many factors to consider in their sigil that it made the elf’s heart ache with hopelessness.

 

     But their heart ached even more every time they changed their clothes and saw the body before them, much too feminine with curves that had felt awkward since the day they appeared. Tight underclothes and wraps could only do so much for this ache, and so Jeimos pushed through their hopelessness with determination.

 

     Perhaps one day things would be different, they thought. Uncertainty was the only thing that was certain.

 

     They pushed on until they heard Tarajeen come home, and then they hid all evidence of their secret craft. Otto the Otter never did get a fashionable sunhat. Instead his head had exploded, and what was left of him was added to the hoard of other stuffed animal remains under the bed.

 

     Jeimos sat cross-legged on their bed, pretending to be hard at work on a packet that was already filled out as their mother walked in. They were feeling resentful and refused to pay her a single glance. “It’s true, Kay,” Tarajeen told them, voice strong with fervor. “Remio in Level F is conspiring against us.”

 

     At this, Jeimos’ gaze finally flashed up at her. “What? Who?” they queried.

Tarajeen went on, “Remio Gratios! I’ve worked with him for decades. His daughter Faleen attends the Arcanum with you…?”

Jeimos shrugged. “I don’t know her.”

“No? You’re in the same class! Surely you’ve spoken to her at least once!”

“I don’t _socialize_ , Mum,” the elf grumbled. “I don’t have _time_ …”

 

     Tarajeen stood in the doorway, eyes staring intensely at nothing. She was quiet for a moment, then she pointed a finger in the air and went on, “Of course she wouldn’t speak to you! They’d want to be inconspicuous, wouldn’t they? Faleen sabotaged your final, and it was her pathetic father who put her up to it!”

 

     Jeimos recoiled slightly, raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” Tarajeen said, approaching Jeimos with her arms outstretched. She kneeled on the bed and embraced them tightly. “I realize I’ve made a mistake! You’ve done nothing to deserve this punishment—it was Remio all along! I _know_ you would have passed that final if it weren’t for his meddling!”

 

     She withdrew and clamped her hands on her child’s shoulders. She continued, “You’re not grounded anymore, Kaseen. I do hope you’ll forgive me. But I still encourage you to study while I talk to that head mage of yours. Don’t you worry, Mummy will get this all sorted out!”

 

     Then as suddenly as she appeared, Tarajeen was gone, rushing out the door in a whirlwind of black robes. Her boots clicked on the stone tiles until Jeimos heard the front door open and close again. For nearly a minute they could only stare through their open doorway in befuddlement.

 

     They decided not to question it. Tarajeen could believe whatever she wanted, as long as it kept her off the trail of Jeimos’ secret magic.

 

*

 

     Two weeks slogged by and now summer break was coming to a close.

 

     Not that it made any difference to Jeimos. They retook their final during that time and passed flawlessly. It was simply because they used the right sigil this time, but Tarajeen was still convinced the Gratios family was responsible for Jeimos’ failure in the first place.

 

     “That’s why you passed this time!” their mother said. “Because Faleen was not there to sabotage you!” Jeimos didn’t bother trying to convince her otherwise. She’d always been high-strung as far as Jeimos knew, but in the last couple months she’d gotten downright volatile.

 

     Stress at work perhaps, for she mentioned some kind of explosion that occurred in the Iron Spire a while back. Tarajeen and a few other physicists had been working on the Starlight Portal when a component suddenly erupted. Everyone came out of it alive with Tarajeen hit the hardest. She was treated for minor burns. The arcane particles she’d been exposed to were deemed “benign”.

 

     Tonight, Jeimos was beginning to doubt that as they returned home and found the sitting room in shambles. At first they thought they’d been burglarized. But they could see Tarajeen through the divider of metal filigree, tearing pots and pans out of the kitchen cabinets. They clattered loudly on the floor and she seemed to have no regard for how late it was.

 

     “Mum! The neighbors are going to throw a fit—what are you—what is all _this_?” The elf stammered as they rushed into the kitchen, nearly tripping over the mess strewn across the tiles.

Tarajeen turned to them with round-eyed intensity. “Lock the door! Lock it right now!” she snapped.

 

     Jeimos hesitated, then rushed back and turned the lock on the front door. Tarajeen closed the cabinet and said, “They’ve been sneaking in and moving our things! I need to find out where they’re getting in so I can set a trap—”

“Wait, wait!” Jeimos broke in, waving their hands frantically before them. “ _Who_ is sneaking in?”

 

     Their mother pointed to the floor with every word as she replied, “Those damned Zareenite illegals, Kaseen!” She kicked a pan to the side. Her hair was falling out from its pins, stray curls falling over her shoulders. “They’ve finally caught on to me and the Eyes, and now they’re following me home to get their revenge!”

 

     Jeimos stood in the sitting room, utter confusion seizing their tongue. They watched Tarajeen haphazardly scoop up the pans and shove them back into the cabinets, then she pointed to the hallway as she stormed into the sitting room. “Check the linen closet for loose panels! I’m going to go over your father’s den once more.”

 

     Before she could move any further, Jeimos blocked her path and grasped her by the shoulders. “Mum!” they began. “Are you listening to yourself? Look at this mess! No one has been sneaking into our home, that’s—”

 

     _Sick_.

 

     But Jeimos couldn’t bring themselves to say it aloud. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t accurate. It couldn’t be. Their cheeks puffed as they let out a strained sigh and walked Tarajeen to the sitting area. They kicked a cushion back in its rightful place and sat her down, kneeling beside her.

 

     “You’ve been working much too hard,” they told her softly. “Please, _please_ take a day off, will you? You can’t keep doing this. You clearly haven’t been feeling your best lately.”

“I can’t afford to do that!” barked Tarajeen, slamming her fists on her knees. Her eyes began to sparkle with tears. “Don’t you realize how expensive your schooling is? Not to mention the taxes on this place keep going up and up, your father barely makes half of what I—”

    

     She stopped with a gasp, briefly covered her mouth before she continued, “Your father! He’ll be home any minute!” She blinked and with it, the tears spilled over onto her cheeks. She turned to her child and grasped their oversized coat. “Kaseen,” she croaked, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I—I—this place a damned mess and Felice just left an hour ago! Your father can’t see this, he _can’t_!”

 

     “It’s alright,” Jeimos told her quickly, before their brain could decide if it was or not. “I think you’re having a nervous breakdown. It happens to me all the time, except…” they sighed. “Mine happen _quietly_. Just go have some tea and lie down. I’ll have this cleaned up in no time.”

 

     “Are you sure?” queried Tarajeen, voice hardly a peep in her throat. Her wet face was contorted in pain.

Jeimos forced a smile for her, replied, “Yes. Please, have a rest for once in your life.”

 

     Tarajeen nodded, pulled Jeimos into a tight hug and then rose to her feet. She began boiling water in silence while Jeimos righted the crooked table, pushed the cushions back into place, picked up scattered books and knick-knacks, and pinned tapestries back to the walls.

 

     Just after they righted the last wrong, Ojio arrived. He passed through the door with his tool bag in hand. He paid no one a second glance as he slipped off his coveralls and hung them on the coat hook. Tarajeen was lying across two cushions on the floor with an arm thrown over her eyes. Jeimos sat beside her and sipped from a steaming copper mug.

 

     Ojio mumbled his greeting as he made his way to the den. He stopped with his hand hovering over the knob, then whipped his head back to his family. It was much too peaceful in here, and it wasn’t every day he saw Tarajeen _relaxing_. Jeimos flashed a look back to him and then quickly averted it.

“What’s going on here?” asked Ojio. He pushed up his glasses, brows sagging in concern.

 

     Jeimos hesitated, busying their mouth with the mug. “We’re having cinnamon tea,” they answered. “Would you like some?”

“Cinnamon tea,” Ojio repeated slowly, as if it were a foreign language. After an awkward silence, he made his way to the table and picked up a cup from the stack.

 

     His child poured him a drink from the pot, the whole time his eyes shifting around like a guilty criminal. “I didn’t, eh…Forget someone’s birthday, did I? Or, um, an anniversary…?”

“No, _Amro_ ,” groaned Tarajeen. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, raking the hair from her face. “We’re taking the night off to relax. We need it. We _all_ need it.”

 

*

 

     Damijana was a city without seasons. Heat and smog radiated from it all year round and choked out the newborn frost nymphs in the clouds. These isanae would never bring snow to such a place, nor would the limniads bring plants, nor the dryads trees. Sometimes acid rain would pelt the streets, but it did not harm this jungle of stone and iron.

 

     It didn’t harm the red elves dwelling within either, for they were naturally impervious to burning whether by fire or chemical. The traditional black garb they wore was made from the skin and hair of flame nymphs, and that too did not burn.

 

     Though Felice was now a fragile white-haired human in her 70’s, she braved this awful weather tonight anyway. She wouldn’t miss Jeimos’ piano recital for anything.

 

     She shielded herself with an umbrella of pyriad leather, with shoes of the same material on her feet. She could still smell it, the noxious mist rising off the concrete all around, and it burned her lungs like fire. She was relieved to finally take shelter in the music hall, where Jeimos had been taking lessons all their life.

 

     Felice hadn’t missed a recital yet. Jeimos parents, however, had been on a bad streak for years. The elf scanned for them in the crowd as they took the stage. They noticed Felice, sticking out like a sore thumb in the elven crowd. She waved with a smile and Jeimos waved back, then shrugged their shoulders as if questioning.

 

     Felice’s smile faded. She shook her head. So, Tarajeen and Ojio would be absent yet again. Jeimos was disappointed but they could hardly say they were surprised. They sighed towards the ceiling, straightened the long dress that hugged their form much too tightly for their liking, and took their seat at the piano.

 

     The other music students got their instruments tuned up and the conductor motioned the audience into silence. Everyone would play a set together, then each student would get their own 2-minute piece to shine. Jeimos wrote a new piece every year, typically a slow and melancholy tune.

 

     This year’s tune was more anxious and harried. The elf’s long, slender fingers fidgeted over the keys like dancers upon hot coals. It was fast, it was precise, and it was over in a heartbeat. They bowed for their applause, glancing through their curtain of curls at Felice. Her expression looked as anxious as their music sounded.

 

     In just under two hours, the recital came to an end. Most people lingered to mingle, but Jeimos couldn’t get out of there fast enough. They quickly found Felice in the churning crowd and the two headed out the double-doors together. The acid rain was plummeting to the ground like comets, thunder booming high above.

 

     “Oh, this blasted rain!” Jeimos cursed to the sky, then turned to Felice with concern. “Shall we wait until it slows down? I don’t want you to get burned.”

Felice shook her head, took Jeimos by the hand with her umbrella in the other. They began to run towards the monorail station. “I think the sooner you get home, the better,” she said.

 

     They finally boarded the monorail, and it was strangely empty for this time of night. Typically office workers from the Middle Sector would be flooding in by now, staggering out from the taverns on their way home. Perhaps they were all at the recital.

 

     Jeimos and Felice took their seats in a back corner. The elf peeked over at Felice’s legs. She was not a red elf nor a native Damijani, and so she didn’t observe their traditions like their neck-to-toe black garb. She wore a flowery hat and a simple burgundy dress that rose above her ankles when she sat down. Then Jeimos could see the angry red burns on her legs, places where the rain had splashed up above her shoes.

 

     “Felice, your legs,” Jeimos said with a frown. The woman wiggled her foot and shrugged.

“Such is life in the empire. They’ll be fine,” she replied. “I’m more worried about _you_. You looked so miserable all night! Tell me what’s wrong.”

 

     Jeimos' downcast gaze drifted to the side. A long sigh gusted through their nose. They explained quietly, “I hate this damn dress. Mum spent a fortune on it, begged me to wear it…Yet she didn’t have the decency to show up and see it!”

“Oh, Jeimos,” Felice murmured, reached up to rub the elf’s back. “I know your parents would have come if they could. It just happened to fall on a night they work late, that’s all.”

    

     “They _always_ work late these days. They barely feel like parents! They’re more like bossy roommates,” groaned Jeimos. They shook their head, staring into the empty plastic seat across from them. After a pause they turned to Felice. “You’ve been more of a parent to me than they ever have. I love you, Felice. Thank you for being there for me, I do appreciate it.”

 

     The woman’s cheeks plumped with her smile. “It’s my pleasure, Dear. And I love you too, more than you know. You always have been and always shall be one of my own.”

 

     The two rode together until Jeimos’ stop in the Sun Sector. Felice stayed on board, where she would eventually end up at her place down in the Shadow Sector. Humans could not legally own property in Damijana, so it was but a cheap, dingy old inn room she’d been renting for years.

 

     Jeimos saw this inn only once, when they were young and Felice was picking them up from school. The Paramonimos’ domain was being treated for vermin, so Felice took them back to her home for the day. “Home” was a bad way to describe that place in Jeimos’ opinion. There was nothing homey about it at all—it was dirty, leaky, and in need of an exterminator itself. The Middle Sector was as low as they went since. It just couldn’t get nastier or sketchier than the Shadow Sector below that.

 

     But now the elf was safe at home in their own neighborhood, dwelling among the upper crust of society. They would graduate from the Arcanum in just a handful of years and then perhaps they would have their own flat. Their own little sanctuary where they could be whoever and whatever they wished. For now they were still in their late 30’s. There was no expectation for an elf to move out so young!

 

     They were quick to change out of their dress, carelessly tossing it to the floor, and then they slipped into a baggy black sweater that reached nearly down to their knees. Black leggings hugged their skinny legs and their feet were hidden in chunky black boots. This was more like it. Swimming in these rags, they were shapeless, formless like a nebula.

 

     They went down the hall towards the bathroom, froze when they saw light glowing under the closed door. They could hear shuffling beyond it. Someone was inside! Jeimos cautiously backed away down the hall, trying to silence their boots on the tile. They tip-toed through the kitchen and up to the telephone on the wall.

 

     They carefully removed the brassy receiver from its mount, then dropped it with a shriek as a voice from behind called, “I found a security breach, Kaseen!”

The elf whirled around with a hand to their thumping heart, staring wide-eyed at their disheveled mother standing before them. “Mum!” they gasped. “I thought you were at work! How long have you been home?”

 

     Tarajeen looked back at them with equal intensity in her eyes. The sleeves of her robes were wet as if she’d been elbow-deep in water. “Serafeen permitted me to leave around lunch time,” she explained. “I told her about Zareen’s chemical attacks and she was most concerned! She knew it was best if I stay here and guard the homefront—and I agree!”

 

     She waved her hands in front of her, wearing an ear-to-ear grin as she continued, “But don’t worry, Kay. Mummy’s got it all figured out now! It was the vent in the bathroom! I’m just going to seal it off and then we’ll all be safe—safe as houses! Let me just get your father's tools…”

 

     Tarajeen mumbled on as she disappeared into Ojio’s den. Jeimos could hear her rooting around with clutter until she returned with a toolbox in one hand and pieces of lumber under the opposite arm. She took it all into the bathroom and Jeimos trotted behind.

 

     The elf froze when they saw the mess. The toilet lid was completely detached and lying across the room, the shower curtain torn down, makeup and toiletries scattered everywhere. Tarajeen had dragged a stepstool from the kitchen in, standing upon it as she attempted to nail boards over the vent.

 

     She held several nails between her teeth, speaking over them when she rambled on, “…Asked for help from the Guard but they keep ignoring me, the layabouts…The Eyes have been infiltrated by illegals, they’re no good, not trustworthy anymore…Kaseen, pass Mummy that other board!”

 

     Jeimos hesitated for a long moment, unblinking at the madness before them. Tarajeen certainly had her episodes here and there. They used to be manageable, so far and few between. But over the last few years things like this had become bi-weekly. Finally Jeimos just obeyed, picking up the second board and passing it to their mother. She pulled another nail from her mouth and began hammering it to the ceiling.

 

     “I’m just trying to keep you safe,” explained Tarajeen. “They mean to take us down, that Gratios lot and the illegals, those damn rats in Level F…and they’ve even got agents bleeding into the Guard, Kaseen! All of Damijana is under attack but they won’t _listen_ to me!”

 

     She finished and stepped down from the ladder, pointed the hammer at Jeimos. “Zareen Empire’s pumping noxious mind-control gasses all over the city, and it’s up to me to find every last one of their agents, because clearly— _clearly_ —everyone else is already headsick!”

 

     “Mum,” began Jeimos. They closed their eyes, let out a long sigh before continuing, “That explosion at the Spire all those years ago…I _really_ think you should bring it up with Chieftess Serafeen because—”

 

     “I told her! I told her it was deliberately orchestrated by the Zareen agents in Level F, but she doesn’t believe me! None of them believe me because they’re conspiring against me, the lot of them!” Tarajeen raved as she pushed passed her child and stormed down the hallway.

 

     “Mum!” Jeimos called in pursuit. They stopped in the sitting room, watched Tarajeen as she collapsed to her knees by the door. Her body folded into an arch, hands raking through her unkempt hair. Her back shook with big, heaving sobs. For several minutes the elf was frozen in fear, had no idea what to do.

 

     They found themselves moving forward like an automaton, pulled their crying mother to her feet and led her into her bedroom. There she curled up on her bed and soaked her pillow with tears. “I can’t save them,” Tarajeen whimpered. “The empire is doomed, I can’t save them, I can’t save them…I’m sorry, Kaseen, I’m sorry…”

 

     Jeimos set their jaw tight, stomach cramping even tighter. They brushed the hair from Tarajeen’s clammy forehead and sighed, “Just get some rest, Mum,” before slowly backing out of the room. They stepped out into the hall and quietly closed the door behind them.

 

     Felice would be in tomorrow. She was getting too old and frail to clean up disasters like this. Jeimos set to work righting the chaos in the bathroom.

 


	2. A Vile Vial

##  **[CHAPTER 2: A VILE VIAL]**

 

     The next day, Tarajeen recovered and went back to work as usual. She never spoke about her “episodes”, refused to acknowledge them at all. She would simply ignore questions and change the subject. Ojio’s reaction wasn’t much different. “You mustn’t tell _anyone_ about your mother’s behavior,” he whispered to Jeimos. “She’ll be banished from the empire and this family will be in ruins!”

 

     It seemed so cruel and unusual to Jeimos. With all of Damijana’s state-of-the-art medical science, their wealth and technology, was there truly no help for Tarajeen? When someone’s body was sick, Damijani doctors nursed them back to health. But when their mind was sick, the Damijana Guard hauled them outside the walls like a lost cause, something broken beyond repair. Something shameful and ugly, something to be hidden from the public.

 

     And it was never explained _why_. Everyone knew “headsickness” was the real reason, but never once did the Guard ever acknowledge the existence of such a thing. The word was only murmured in private among the citizens. People were banished for “treason” or “conspiracy” or “violence”. Never “headsickness”.

 

     The _why_ was too vast and too dangerous for Jeimos to solve. They knew better than to question the empire and go snooping around. Even the topmost Star Sector was shady and grimy in its own right. Everyone knew, but no one talked. It was just another secret they were responsible for, one that they would juggle alongside their in-between identity and their transmutation practice.

 

     For the last few years, Jeimos had been keeping another secret too: They had been skipping their piano lessons to visit Felice in the Shadow Sector. How would their parents know anyway? It’s not like they ever showed up to Jeimos’ recitals! Felice though, she always had time for the elf.

 

     Barely a beam of sunlight could penetrate the jungle of towers and walkways above. The Shadow Sector was stuck in a permanent state of nightfall, only flickering old lampposts lighting the way. There were so many shadows, so many areas for crime to breed. Jeimos never liked the idea of little old Felice walking these streets alone. But as they ran errands together, Jeimos realized that the citizens here seemed to appreciate her as much as Jeimos did.

 

     Brawling junkies would stop mid-punch as she passed to greet her. The clerk at the run-down liquor store tipped his head to her as she passed. Even the scraggly vagrants who reeked of booze hushed their foul language in her presence. She must have really been something special, Jeimos thought.

 

     Tonight Felice was taking the elf to a special place, but she never said where. “I have a secret of my own,” she told them. “And I trust you won’t tell a soul, so come with me. I want you to meet someone.”

 

     She led Jeimos down a narrow, trash-riddled alleyway with hardly a shred of light to see. There was an abandoned liquor store across the street. This was the type of place people got murdered, Jeimos was sure of it, but no such thing happened as Felice lifted a manhole cover off the ground. She pulled a tiny flashlight from her pocket, turned it on and held it between her teeth while she climbed down the ladder.

 

     Jeimos looked this way and that, then reluctantly followed. “Close that cover behind you, Dear,” she mumbled around the flashlight. “When I’m too old to make this trip anymore, I suppose I’ll have to move back to Driza. The Guard sure hasn’t been hasty about processing my visitation requests…”

 

     “It took four bloody years last time!” mentioned Jeimos. They reached the end of the ladder and stepped onto a stone walkway. There was another walkway across from them and a channel between, where foul water gushed down towards a light at the end the big tunnel. They seemed to be in Damijana’s sewer system. Jeimos pulled the neck of their shirt over their nose, wincing at the stench of waste and harsh chemicals.

 

     “Yes,” replied Felice, “they don’t realize—or don’t _care_ —that I’m human. I don’t have another century ahead of me like the elves do! I have twenty more years on Looming Gaia at most, and I intend to spend as much of that time with my family as I can.”

 

     To Jeimos’ surprise, there were lights down here in the sewer. Not city lamps, but bulbs hanging on cords strung up along the walls. The electricity was probably being siphoned from somewhere, for this system was surely put together by the vagrants that had built their homes down here. Shacks of sheet-metal and rotting lumber were lined up on the walkways, plank bridges placed precariously across the channel.

 

     Jeimos quivered with anxiety as they passed the residents, most of them half-naked and staggering about like zombies. One bumped into Jeimos and almost knocked them into the channel, but none of them paid Felice anything beyond a smile and a wave.

 

     “Felice, where are we? Is it safe?” whispered Jeimos.

Felice chuckled, “In my ten years coming down here, I’ve never had a bit of trouble from these nice folks. I don’t think Damijana has a name for this place, but the locals call it the ‘Gutter Sector’. You’ll be fine so long as you watch your step.”

 

     All their life, Jeimos thought the Shadow Sector was the grimiest, filthiest, most destitute place in Damijana. They’d been wrong. That honor went to the Gutter Sector. The elf jumped as a bright light burst forth across the channel. One of the red elf vagrants had burst into flame, but they didn’t seem too concerned about it. They were impervious to flame, after all.

 

     The other vagrants were much more upset than they were, yelling, “Put it out!”

“You’re gonna burn my damned house down!”

“Get outta here, you fiend!”

 

     And then one of them charged forth and gave the flaming elfann a shove. He reeled back and splashed down into the putrid water in the channel. A colorful film topped this water—traces of petrol and other accelerants. It was ignited by the junkie and for a brief moment, the water too was on fire.

 

     Jeimos cringed, covered their mouth with their hands. “What was that all about?” they murmured.

Felice shook her head. “People are always catching fire around here. I think it’s from the drugs, but I don’t ask questions. It’s best to mind our own business,” she said.

 

     At the end of the tunnel was a metal grate blocking the path to the outside. There was a small crowd of twitching red elves gathered around it. Beyond them Jeimos saw a vast, barren plain illuminated by the light of the moon. A plain of rocky earth and the gnarled remains of dead trees reaching up from the landscape, a place where nymphs obviously hadn’t set foot in centuries.

 

     The great Kingsfall River split the land, its brown water carrying an endless stream of trash down south. The sewer’s channel spilled through the grate and into this river about twenty feet below. Jeimos and Felice moved closer until Jeimos could see what the fuss was about.

 

     People were crowding around a skinny human boy with bronze skin and straight black hair. He was no older than 15 or 16, perched in the pipe just on the other side of the grate. How he got up there, Jeimos couldn’t imagine. The boy was taking coins from the elves and giving them little glass vials in exchange, passing everything through the holes in the grate.

 

     When the boy saw Felice, his eyes seemed to light up and he beamed, “Grandma!” He turned to the elves and waved them away. “My grandma Felice is here! Piss off for a second, I’ll get back to you!” Reluctantly the crowd of vagrants parted for Felice as she shuffled forward. She and the boy shoved their arms through the grate and embraced eachother as well as they could.

 

     “Oh, my little Sebastian,” she cooed. “I missed you so much. How is your mother?”

The boy’s eyes drifted downwards, shoulders jumping with his mumbled reply, “Still no help. Just lays around all day and yells at me. I gotta hide your money from her or she spends it all on booze.”

 

     Felice frowned, closed her eyes and nodded. “You’re a smart boy, Sebby,” she told him. “Is your business doing well?”

“It’s hard work,” Sebastian sighed. “My supplier in Driza’s behind bars. Now we gotta pack up and move to Viersen soon, ‘cause on a bad day I’m spending more on train tickets than I make!”

 

     Reaching through the grate once more, Felice took his hand. “Thank you for taking care of your mother. I know it isn’t easy. I wish you weren’t selling this junk, but I can’t tell you anything, can I?”

“It’s totally safe, Grandma,” the boy assured her. “I’m just a kid. Nobody even looks twice at me.”

“But one day you’ll be a man, and when that day comes I want you to find something else to do. Something _honest_. Do you hear me?”

Sebastian nodded. “That’s the plan.”

 

     “Gimme the dust already, Kid!” a vagrant barked from the crowd.

Sebastian clutched the grate and shouted back, “Shut your mouth or you’re not getting anything!”

 

     A murmur spread through the crowd. Twitchy, itchy, junkies were getting anxious. Jeimos eyed them nervously until Felice put her hand on their shoulder and said, “Sebastian, this is the wonderful Jeimos I’ve told you about.” She smiled at the elf. “Jeimos, this is my grandson, Sebastian. The Guard wouldn’t let me go to him, so he started coming to me.”

 

     “Been making this trip since I was thirteen,” Sebastian added proudly. “Damijana sounds crazy! Never been in the walls myself, but Grandma told me all about it.” He reached into the backpack sitting beside him and pulled out a little glass vial, about the size of a man’s thumb. It was full of some kind of salt, glittery and bright red in color. The top was sealed off by a cork and melted wax.

 

     Sebastian looked at Jeimos as he twirled the vial between his fingers. “So, you looking to buy?” he asked.

The elf quirked an eyebrow, but before they could speak Felice waved her hand and said, “Oh, no, no! Jeimos isn’t like that, Dear. I brought them here because they are part of my family just as much as you are. I want you to see their face and remember that even after I’m gone.”

 

     The boy nodded in understanding. He reached a hand through the grate towards Jeimos and said, “If you ever get outside the walls, come find me in Viersen. My family will take care of you. If Grandma Felice says you’re alright, then you’re alright with all of us.”

 

     A smile spread across the elf’s face as they reached forward to shake his hand. The boy seized it with vigor and a toothy grin. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Sebastian,” Jeimos told him. “Your grandmother is a wonderful person. She’s the only friend I’ve ever had, you know.”

 

     The boy shrugged and smiled back, replied, “Well, now you have two!”

 

*

 

     Months went on and so too did another year at the Arcanum. Jeimos was so close to earning their silly hat and star-spangled robes that they could teleport things without even using sigils. They had memorized the complex designs and so there they were conjured, right behind their eyes at any time.

 

     They could teleport objects and small animals competently enough, but they had yet to learn how to teleport themselves. That was the final test, the test they’d been studying almost two decades for.

 

     Well, they knew how to do it in _theory_. In practice, however, they were no better at it than they were at transmuting their poor stuffed animals, whose corpses still lie hidden under their bed. There were few times they could throw them out without drawing suspicion. They had to be tossed just a few at a time, shredded and stuffed within boxes within bags.

 

     One day when the calendar declared “winter” and the weather declared otherwise, Jeimos woke up to a disaster in the sitting room. Apparently Tarajeen had one of her episodes during the night and left it for Felice before heading to work. The table was overturned, books strewn, rugs askew…

 

     Jeimos didn’t have time for this either. They had a full day ahead of them, so they left the mess and rushed out the door. They couldn’t help but think of poor old Felice straining herself to right that heavy table. She was getting too old for her job, and certainly too old for Tarajeen’s nonsense.

 

     It wasn’t fair, Jeimos thought, that humans aged so quickly. To have every mental faculty of an elf while only half the life in their veins? How did they possibly cope knowing they only had a century at most? Maybe that’s why they couldn’t use magic. By the time they mastered it they would already have one foot in the grave.

 

     When Jeimos returned home it seemed they’d been worried over nothing. Felice hadn’t righted the table at all, nor had she righted anything else. The mess was exactly as they left it. Only one thing was unusual: Tarajeen was home early. Jeimos found her in the sitting room, making the mess worse by stabbing holes in the plaster wall with a kitchen knife.

 

     “What in the world are you doing?” blurted Jeimos, dropping their bags by the door.

Tarajeen kept stabbing different points on the wall, didn’t miss a beat as she replied, “Zareen agents have planted pixie spies in the walls! I heard their scratching and their nasty little whispers! They can’t escape me! I’ll kill them all, the little bastards!”

 

     “Mum, stop!” The elf rushed forward to grab the knife, stopped in their tracks as Tarajeen whirled around and pointed it at them. Jeimos raised their hands, their fearful eyes locking with their mother’s intense glare. For what felt like several hours they were at a standoff. Then Tarajeen slowly lowered the knife.

 

     She blinked once, twice, three times, and each time her intensity faltered. Then the knife clattered on the floor. Tarajeen brought her hands to her head, clawing her long fingers through her hair. She turned back towards the wall and crouched there in silence.

 

     Cautiously, Jeimos inched their way towards her and kicked the knife across the room. Their mother didn’t move. “Mum,” they began, “where is Felice? Was she sick today?” Tarajeen didn’t answer. She remained crouched there by the wall, fingers tangled in her hair.

 

     Jeimos touched her shoulder and urged, “Mum!”

And finally a reply finally burst forth, “She was a _spy_ , Kaseen! I should have never trusted a commoner, they’re all the same! Liars, liars, liars!”

 

     The anger on her face suddenly flashed into a smile. “But we’re safe now. I reported her to the Damijana Guard and they carted her off for questioning. They’ll find that she was never here legally and throw her in prison where she belongs!”

 

     Jeimos gut twisted into a knot. They staggered back, thought they might faint before stamping their foot in anger. “That isn’t true!” they cried. “Felice has a work permit. She has every right to be in Damijana! Why would you do this to her? How can you possibly spew these lies when you’re _fae_?”

 

     Tarajeen stood up and spat back, “Because I speak the truth, Kaseen! And one day you’ll believe me when Zareen lobs their bombs upon us!” Jeimos’ jaw fell slack. They dropped their face into their palms and shook their head.

 

     “You really, honestly, believe what you’re saying is true,” they said. “Just listen to yourself, Mum! Listen to this madness! You are _sick_! You’re sick and you’re too sick to even realize it!” The intensity returned to Tarajeen’s eyes, orange and round and burning like the sun.

 

     She pointed a shaking finger at her child and growled, “How dare you! You ungrateful brat, you ignorant little wretch—accusing _sickness_ upon your own mother!” She balled her fists at her sides, stomped her foot like a child. “I am not the sick one here, Kaseen! It is the Guard, it is the Eyes, it is the entire damn empire _except_ me! I am the one rational person in the world just trying to save you all from your madness!”

 

     Tarajeen opened her mouth to say more, then closed it and suddenly stormed off down the hall. Jeimos ran after her and called, “W-where are you going?” Their question was answered barely a second later when their mother burst into their bedroom. She came in like a tornado, tossing everything in a whirlwind around her.

 

     “Stop! Please! Why are you doing this?” Jeimos panicked, trying desperately to restrain her as she ripped posters from the wall, pushed books from the desk, ripped linens off the bed.

“You could be one of them, conspiring against me! My own daughter!” Tarajeen pushed them away with enough force to send Jeimos reeling back. They tripped over a book and fell to the floor.

 

     They couldn’t get up fast enough, watching in horror as Tarajeen overturned the desk before dropping to her knees to peek under the bed. Her expression changed, from fury to confusion and then back. A pile of mutant stuffed animals greeted her. She grabbed a handful of the little abominations and examined them with a look of bewilderment.

 

     “I—” Jeimos began breathlessly.

“What the blazes are these?” blurted Tarajeen. She put her head to the floor once more, reached back under the bed and tossed more oddities out. Then she found it—Jeimos’ copy of “ _Transmutation: From Shape to Shape_ ”. Jeimos was frozen in place. Their heart pounded like a drum in their chest.

 

     “Transmutation,” Tarajeen said slowly. She turned to her child, brow furrowed in anger and suspicion and who-knows-what-else. “So you’re a shapeshifter, are you? A filthy changeling, come to replace my Kaseen?” She shot to her feet and so too did Jeimos.

 

     “No!” Jeimos cried, eyes glimmering with tears. “I’m not a spy, I’m not a Zareen agent and I’m not a damn changeling, Mum! But—” Anxiety caught in their throat. They swallowed it back and continued as calmly as they could manage, “But I’m not your daughter either, nor your son. I’m just…Your child. My name is Jeimos, and I’ve been using that book to try and reflect that.”

 

     There was a tense silence between them, Tarajeen staring slack-jawed. Finally she said, “Jeimos is your _middle_ name.”

The elf shrugged. “It’s my name nonetheless. I prefer it because it’s an – _os_ name. It’s not an – _een_ or an – _io_ , it has no gender attached to it.” Their gaze drifted to the floor. “It’s what Felice always called me.”

 

     Tarajeen’s fingers dug into the book’s leathery cover. “So she kept secrets from me,” she growled.

“She _accepted_ me! She didn’t scream at me when I was less than perfect, she never thought lesser of me, she never—” Jeimos was interrupted when their mother shoved passed them and disappeared down the hall.

 

     They followed her, clutching the back of her robes. “What are you doing? Mum? _Mum_?” they queried as Tarajeen approached the fireplace. It was a round iron chamber with a squeaky door on its front. Jeimos shrieked when she tossed the book inside and slammed the door shut, then flipped the switch that brought instant flames to life.

 

     “No, no, no, no—” The elf reached for the door but Tarajeen shoved them back, stood in their way and pointed her finger in their face.

She told them through her teeth, “You will stop this nonsense and you will speak of it to _no one_! Do you understand me, Kaseen? You’re sick in the head!”

 

     Jeimos shoved her back and wailed, “You’re one to talk about _sickness_! Look what you’ve done to our home!” They gestured around at the chaos. Their voice broke down into sobs. “You’re ashamed of your own child and you’ve never cared about my feelings! You’ve taken away the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever had because—because of your _lunacy_!”

 

     “Keep your voice down or they’ll hear you,” hissed Tarajeen. “The Guard will banish you forever!”

Jeimos turned away from her and kicked a misplaced trophy across the room. They shouted even louder, “It’s just as well! I’d rather be anywhere else than spend one more minute in this damned madhouse!”

 

     With that, Jeimos wrenched the front door open and slammed it closed behind them. Tarajeen opened it again, just to peek out and watch her child run off in tears. She floundered there, deciding if she should make a scene or let them go. Then Jeimos turned a corner and was well out of sight.

 

     Tarajeen let out a growl and closed the door. She rushed towards the telephone in the kitchen.

 

*

 

     Naturally, the first place Jeimos thought to check was the Shadowlight inn where Felice lived. But she was not there and the innkeeper hadn’t seen her since she left for work. Jeimos’ nerves were so rattled, their stomach so twisted that they vomited in the street. Not that it made much difference here in the Shadow Sector, where the streets were littered with trash, vomit, and other mysterious fluids at every turn.

 

     The more affluent side of the Paramonimos family was not trustworthy. They were just as likely to turn Jeimos into the Guard for “headsickness” as anyone else in this oppressive empire. Jeimos knew of only one other person that might take their side. A person they only saw during the holidays—and who probably only showed up for the free food.

 

     It took hours of sleuthing to find him, but eventually Jeimos was pointed to a storage facility. The place was just as run-down as everything else. The rusty gate wasn’t even locked, so Jeimos walked right through and passed unit after unit with numbers crudely painted on the metal doors.

 

     People were milling around the area like they had nowhere to be, some doors opened to reveal furnished rooms inside. There were fire barrels and grills in the alley, barefoot children running about, every sign that people were actually living in these storage units.

 

     None of this could be legal, Jeimos was sure, but the Shadow Sector was so neglected by the Guard that the law had become but a timid suggestion. They stopped before unit 23 and knocked on the door. It rattled noisily under their knuckles, and just a moment later it cracked open from the side.

 

     An orange, bloodshot eye peeked out at them. It squinted, then rounded and the door flew open. There stood Jeimos’ cousin Lorio, skinny as a beanpole with his wavy red hair tied in a messy knot. Tattered black pants hung loose on his bony hips, torso bared and pocked with little red sores.

 

     He was only in his 80’s but he appeared so haggard, with insomniac eyes and a handful of missing teeth. What teeth he had left were exposed as he paid Jeimos an ear-to-ear grin and trapped them in a hug. Jeimos cringed, reluctantly hugged him back. He reeked of alcohol, sweat, and tooth decay.

 

     “Kay-Kay, my cousin!” Lorio slurred through his disaster of a mouth. “What’re you doing down here? Shite, is it New Year already? What day is it?”

Jeimos withdrew and shook their head. They took a deep breath and responded somberly, “No, Lorio. I’m terribly sorry to intrude like this, but…I have a favor to ask of you.”

 

     Lorio’s red eyebrows jumped with intrigue. He looked this way and that, then stepped into his storage unit and beckoned his cousin inside. Jeimos stepped through the door and Lorio closed it behind them. The room was like a jail cell, dimly lit by a light bulb dangling from a rusty cord.

 

     The walls and floors were of drab concrete, riddled with cracks and spiderwebs in the corners. There was a stained bedroll on the floor, a suitcase beside it stuffed with clothes, and an old radio sitting on a milk crate. Jeimos’ eyes were watering, likely from the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts beside the bed. Empty beer bottles were piled up around the milk crate.

 

     Jeimos was so overwhelmed by the state of it, they immediately regretted the next words that came out of their mouth. “I need somewhere to stay,” they said.

Lorio’s eyebrows jumped even higher. He crossed his arms and queried, “Somewhere to stay? _You_? Last I heard, you were being spoiled up there in the Sun Sector.”

 

     The elf had to consider their next words very carefully. Should they tell Lorio about his aunt Tarajeen’s _issues_? How much detail should they let slip? They and Lorio had played together as children and talked once a year during the holidays, but beyond that they were only bound by blood.

 

     “Mum fired our lovely housekeeper,” Jeimos told him. “Reported her to the Guard for something or other, and I am _livid_ with her for it. I don’t—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Lorio blurted, eyes wide as saucers. “The Guard finally took Felice? Uh-oh. Someone’s gotta warn Seb…”

Jeimos quirked an eyebrow. “Do you know her?”

 

     “Yeah, yeah! Felice Duval, Sebastian’s gran! Shite, _everyone_ knows her around here!” Lorio carelessly pushed the radio off the milk crate and motioned for Jeimos to sit on it. He sat across from them on the bedroll and continued, “She’s been at that old inn for decades. Sweet old bird. Her daughter Camilla used to sling pyre dust in the Gutter Sector.”

 

     Lorio reached for a half-empty bottle of alcohol, took a swig before he went on, “Seb’s takin’ over for his mum these days. He mentioned you last I saw him and I thought he was lyin’! I said ‘Kay’s a real high-class girl, she wouldn’t be caught dead down here!’ Heh…” He grinned, shook his head. “Guess he wasn’t lyin’, was he?”

 

     “Felice wasn’t doing anything _illegal_ , was she?” asked Jeimos. They wrung their gloved hands anxiously above their knees.

Lorio laughed, “Ha! Not a chance. She’s an old wet blanket. Cami and Seb though, they’ve been pumpin’ dust through the Shadow Sector for two generations now. What did the Guard take her in for? Probably questionin’ her about the drugs, huh?”

 

     Shaking their head, Jeimos carefully replied, “No, it was something else. I think Sebastian is safe.” The tears were returning to the elf’s eyes, just as they thought they’d cried themselves dry. “I’m so worried about her, Lorio! She’s a human—they aren’t going to have a bit of mercy on her! W-what can we do? Should I talk to the Guard?”

 

     “No, no! Nope! Don’t you speak a word to the Guard!” Lorio warned them, waving his hands in the air. “Whatever’s going on, keep your nose out of it or they’ll take you in too. They’re a ruthless bunch, you ought to know that. They’ll throw you in the clink just for looking at ‘em funny.”

 

     “Surely they’d listen to me,” argued Jeimos. “I’m a Paramonimos!”

At this, Lorio slapped his knee and burst out into laughter. Then he clapped both hands on his chest and grinned, “So am I, Cousin! You think the Guard gave a damn who I was? It was _your nosy mother_ who reported me! Officer catches big-shot CEO with one measly vial of dust. Next thing I know, I’m pickin’ garbage on Slegelse Island for ten years!”

 

     “The empire doesn’t play games, Kay,” he continued quietly. “You’re either a menace or you’re not. If you play by the rules you can have it all, but if don’t fall in line…” He spread his arms, gesturing to the room around him. “You lose everything. You end up down here, and good luck clawing your way back up once you’re on their list…”

 

     Burying their face into their hands, Jeimos let out a long, miserable groan. Lorio shook his head, told them, “Look, this place isn’t for you. Go on home back to your mummy and daddy, your three square meals and your nice, warm bed. You can’t do a thing for Felice now. Aunt Tarajeen’s an Eye and she’s got some real authority. If she says Felice is a menace, then Felice is a menace.”

 

     “What will they do to her?” sniffled Jeimos. Lorio shrugged.

“Hard to say,” he replied. “Might send her to Slegelse, might kill her or banish her, or they might do nothing. Either way, stay out of it. Especially if you’re hanging around me!”

“I can’t go home,” Jeimos told him tearfully. “It’s miserable there. I don’t want to talk about it, so you’ll just have to believe me.”

 

     Lorio’s cheeks puffed out as a harsh sigh gusted between his lips. He sat there on the bedroll in silence, hanging his head in thought. He scratched at his greasy hair, then dragged his palm down his face as he mumbled, “I don’t have a lot of space here for you, as you can plainly see. But I know someone who does if you got a little coin in your pocket.”

 

*

 

     At the end of the day, Jeimos ended up right back where they started: The Shadowlight Inn, where Felice had still not returned and no one had answers about it. There was a tavern on the bottom floor where Lorio convinced Jeimos to buy him a drink or two, or three, and before they knew it he was on his sixth.

 

     Jeimos never had a sip of alcohol before this. They were plenty old enough, but their parents had always forbid it. “It makes the brain sloppy,” Ojio once told them. “It’ll hurt your education.” But in the throes of their sorrow, Jeimos’ education was the last thing they were thinking about.

 

     Anxieties about poor Felice were all that occupied the elf’s troubled mind. What if the Guard was torturing her? Trying to beat answers out of her that she didn’t even know? The Damijana Empire wasn’t fond of commoners and their ability to lie. They made justice too complicated, too uncertain. When dealing with fae there were no lies and no half-truths.

 

     So long as those fae were sound of mind.

 

     That’s why Jeimos knocked back drink after drink with their cousin, trying desperately to silence these terrible worries. The tears kept pouring as the alcohol flowed, and needless to say it was only making things worse. Lorio staggered down the hall towards the bathroom twenty minutes ago and still hadn’t returned, leaving Jeimos alone at their table in the corner.

 

     Tears and mucus soaked their sleeves as the elf cried into their arms. They heard the chair beside them squeak and thought Lorio had returned, but they jumped in surprise when a stranger’s face looked back at them. He was another red elf, clad in black from head to toe. A hood obscured most of his face in shadow.

 

     The only notable thing about him was the little dagger tattooed below his left eye. “You’re not from this sector, are you?” he asked. After a moment’s hesitation, Jeimos sniffled and simply shook their head. The stranger’s chapped lips stretched into a tiny grin. He went on, “Didn’t think so. You don’t look it. Too pretty, dressed to the nines in that fine cloak of yours.”

 

     He tipped his head towards Jeimos’ torso, draped in a black velvet cloak. “Obviously you got some money, so how can you be so upset? Seeing a pretty thing cry makes me cry too, and nobody wants that…”

“Who are you?” queried Jeimos. Their voice quivered, weak in their throat.

 

     “Oh, don’t get nervous,” the stranger told them flippantly. “I mean you no harm—quite the opposite! I’m a medicine man, see. I got a cure for everything. So why don’t you tell Mr. Medicine what ails you?”

Jeimos wiped their eyes on their sleeve. They glared at him through their tears and told him sternly, “I am _not_ sick.”

 

     Mr. Medicine raised his gloved palms. “Now, now. I never said that. But maybe you got an ache or a pain somewhere. Let’s say, in your head or your stomach? Is that right?” he asked. Jeimos furrowed their brow, tried to concentrate through their intoxicated haze.

 

     Indeed, their stomach rolled like the ocean and their head ached like a bruise. Jeimos’ gaze blearily drifted over all the empty glasses on the table and they realized just how much alcohol must have been sloshing through them about now. They closed their eyes and dropped their head against their palms.

 

     “Ugh,” they groaned. “Yes, I feel quite awful actually. Oh, damn it all!” They pounded their fist on the table, rattling the glasses. “What have I done? I have school tomorrow! What the blazes was I thinking? Oh no, oh no, no, no…!” The tears threatened to flow again until Mr. Medicine clamped a hand on their shoulder.

 

     He said, “Hey, what are you worried about? I told you I can cure anything. Listen to me. I got a special medicine that’ll make you feel on top of the world…” Scooting the chair closer, he leaned in and whispered into Jeimos’ pointed ear, “And I’m such a nice chap, I’ll let you have it for _free_. How does that sound?”

 

     Something about this felt _off_. Then again, everything felt _off_ to Jeimos in this moment, as their brain was swimming in hard liquor. Pickled from the inside out, they found themselves saying things they wouldn’t have said otherwise. Such as, “Yes, please. Please, I need to go to class first thing in the morning and I—I can’t feel like—I can’t _be_ like this!”

 

     “Right.” Mr. Medicine smiled and reached into his pocket. His eyes shifted around before he leaned over the table, covertly displaying a little glass vial in his hands. It was about half the size of a man’s thumb, full of something like red sand and sealed with a waxed cork.

 

     It looked just like the vials Sebastian was selling, only smaller. Jeimos blinked in surprise, queried, “Wait. Isn’t this…?”

“Pyre dust,” the stranger whispered. “Hot sand, dragonsalt, whatever you wanna call it. Now I know this stuff has a bad reputation, but this is just a _teensy-tiny_ dose.”

 

     He squeezed his thumb and finger together for emphasis and continued, “Dose like this won’t turn you into a crystal fiend or anything, no bursting into flame and all that. No, not at all. It’s just a little pinch, enough to burn away what ails you, get you up and moving.”

 

     With that, he opened his palm and offered the vial to Jeimos. The elf stared down at it for a moment, then looked back at him and asked, “Well, um, how do I take it?”

“Real easy. Just fill the vial with petrol, right up to the brim. Give it a good shake and drink it down,” said the stranger. He reached into his opposite pocket and pulled out a metal canteen.

 

     He pulled the vial’s cork off with his teeth, biting straight through the wax. The sharp scent of petrol filled the air as he opened the canteen, dribbling just enough into the vial. He covered the top with his finger, gave it a good shake, then handed it back to Jeimos.

 

     “Drink it down quick,” he advised. “It’s gonna burn at first, but that won’t last long. Whatever you do just don’t spit it out!” Jeimos threw a quick look around them as they held the vial. No one seemed to be paying them any mind. The smell of petrol alone would bring the Guard down on them like rats on trash in the Sun Sector.

 

     But here, there was scarcely an officer to be found. Jeimos had seen perhaps one all day, and she happened to be on her way to the elevator to nicer places. In the back of their clever mind they knew this was probably a terrible idea, but that clever mind was drowning in alcohol tonight.

 

     So Jeimos tipped their head back and sucked down the vial like the shots they’d been sucking down for the last two hours. As much as the shots burned, however, the pyre dust burned ten times as hot. The elf threw a hand over their mouth, swallowed hard and tried desperately not to spew it back up.

 

     Mr. Medicine clamped his hand over theirs and said, “That’s right, hold it down. It’ll only burn for a minute!” He plucked the empty vial off the table and stuffed it back in his pocket, swiftly removing all evidence. Jeimos got the last of it down and stuck out their tongue to fan it.

 

     “It burns!” they gasped. The medicine man smiled.

“Yeah, but it’s a good burn. You’ll learn to like it. Now listen! If you ever want more, just—”

“Hey!” a voice called from behind. Mr. Medicine barely had time to react before Lorio seized his coat and yanked him out of the chair.

 

     The stranger went tumbling to the floor. He was quick to rise again, raising his palms in defeat. Lorio jabbed a finger at him and growled, “The blazes are you doin’ with my cousin, Torogio?”

“Oh, this is your cousin? I had no idea!” Mr. Medicine—or Torogio—queried. He tipped his head and went on, “Well, I saw she was very upset, so I thought I would—”

    

     “Whatever, I don’t care!” barked Lorio, directing his finger towards the door. “Get out of my sight. And if I catch you talking to her again, I’ll bust your ugly head open! Understand?”

“Yes, yes, of course!” Torogio wore a wide grin as he made his way towards the door. “You two have a good night then.”

Lorio settled back into his chair and grumbled, “Yeah, piss off.”

 

     Once the stranger disappeared outside, Jeimos turned back to Lorio and blinked. Suddenly their vision had gotten a bit clearer. “Who was that?” they asked.

Lorio shook his head, wearing a bitter scowl. “Some lowlife. Works with Sebastian, I think, so he probably gets a cut of the sales. Don’t talk to him, he’s a damned creep. A predator. Got a bad reputation on him a mile long.”

 

     Lorio picked up an empty glass, absently twirled it in his hands. His bloodshot eyes shifted to Jeimos and he asked, “Didn’t give you any trouble, did he?” But Jeimos barely heard the question. Their eyes were stretched wide as saucers, unblinking at the rose-tinted world before them.

 

     Torogio hadn’t been wrong. The nausea and the headache were gone. So were the elf’s anxieties about school, their fears about Felice, and their uncertainty about the future. All Jeimos felt now was a wash of pure euphoria, a pleasant warmth that spread from their belly outward and buzzed through their veins like electricity.

 

     They were so overcome, they’d forgotten to answer the question. Lorio leaned forward and urged them, “Kay-Kay? You feeling alright?” Jeimos opened their mouth, had every intention to reply. But the words melted to liquid between their brain and their mouth and came out as garbled nonsense. It was silly, absolutely outrageous, and so they began to laugh.

 

     They laughed and laughed, spicy pink drool oozing from their lips all the while. Lorio threw a hand over his eyes and groaned, “Auuugh, shite! I was too late!” He staggered to his feet, barely mobile himself as he tried to pull Jeimos up with him. The elf was jittering like their nerves were on fire, knees knocking, hardly fit to be on their feet as their cousin dragged them down the hall to their room.

 

     He pushed Jeimos onto the creaky cot and slipped his hand into their side pocket, plucking out all the paper bills before tucking the wallet back. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Just gotta sleep it off is all. Won’t last more than a couple hours at most. Good night, Cousin, and thanks for the booze.” And just like that, he was gone. Jeimos squirmed in the cot, still laughing like a maniac at what, they weren’t exactly sure.

 

     Everything just felt so _good_ and it _shouldn’t_ and that was _absurd_! It was so _silly_ that their mother was slipping into total madness. So _hilarious_ that their father neglected his family like a burdensome chore. And what a _gut-buster_ that Felice was likely being tortured by the Damijana Guard for no reason at all!

 

     The pyre dust turned pain to bliss and bliss to euphoria, and the next two and a half hours were the best and worst of Jeimos’ life. They meandered around the room, stumbling all over themselves to touch every wall. There wasn’t much to trip over, just the cot and a metal side table.

 

     It was as bare-bones as a room could be, hardly different than Lorio’s storage unit with the same concrete walls and flooring. There was one small window, the glass tinted and frosted, painting the outside in a blurry fog. Iron bars were welded over it like a cage.

 

     Their trip came to an end as the pyre dust dissipated in their system. It happened so suddenly, Jeimos had no time to react as their eyes rolled back into their head, their legs gave out, and they went crashing to the floor in a silent heap.

 

*

 

     What time was it? The Shadow Sector was so dark, Jeimos wasn’t sure. They awoke to someone shouting and pounding on the door, and just when they blinked the blur from their eyes, that door broke down with a spark. There stood three Damijana Guard officers, all armed with crystal-tipped staffs.

 

     One had used hazard magic to melt the hinges and kick the door down. Now all three of them were storming towards Jeimos. The elf had just awoken in a stupor, trembling with fear and shrieking like a banshee as the officers yanked them to their feet.

 

     “Kaseen J. Paramonimos?” one queried.

“Y-yes, that’s me! P-please don’t hurt—”

“Silence!” another barked, giving their arm a squeeze. “You’ve been reported as a missing person. We are escorting you back to your residence and I suggest you apologize to your poor parents at once. Are we clear?”

 

     “Yes!” Jeimos blubbered, tears streaming from their bloodshot eyes. Their legs felt like rubber, but it hardly mattered when the officers were dragging them along anyway. All Guard officers had shaven heads and black leather armor which draped down at severe points. Their heavy boots scraped loudly on the pavement.

 

     Last night was slowly coming back to Jeimos in disjointed shreds. They remembered Lorio’s hovel. They remembered drinking too much, and a mysterious stranger whose name was lost on them had offered them pyre dust. And Jeimos was kicking themselves now for accepting it.

 

     How foolish could they be? It was so unlike them! According to the clock at the monorail station, they had already missed their advanced mathematics class and they were about to be late for one of their language classes. Their head was pounding once again, stomach sick, eyes burning.

 

     Vomiting on an officer’s lap gave them a little satisfaction, but it was short-lived when that officer “accidentally” clocked them in the head with their gauntlet. They were escorted all the way back to their doorstep, and the officers didn’t leave until the door opened and Tarajeen threw her arms around her child.

 

     Time still felt like a haze as Jeimos stepped into the sitting room. Their hair was tangled like a rat’s nest, hanging over their shoulders with bits of dirt and debris lodged in their curls. Their clothes were grimy, the taste on their tongue was rotten, and only now did they notice one of their boots was gone.

 

     “My child, my dear, my sweet Kaseen!” Tarajeen rambled tearfully as she planted kisses all over their face. “I’ve been up all night worrying about you! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I never meant to drive you away, I just…” She clenched her teeth, shaking her head with a sudden expression of pain.

 

     Jeimos knew they should be feeling more than they were at this moment. Perhaps they were just too exhausted, still reeling from the alcohol and pyre dust. They simply felt numb and disinterested in being awake. Tarajeen embraced them once more, muffling their sobs in their shoulder.

 

     With a long-suffering sigh, Jeimos closed their eyes, embraced her back. “Where in the world _were_ you?” their mother warbled. There were many ways to answer. Jeimos had to think about it.

Finally they replied vaguely, “I was angry. I just needed to get away from it.”

 

     They paused, then added, “Don’t worry about me, Mum. I don’t want to see you cry anymore.” Tarajeen withdrew and wiped her tears away with the ball of her hand.

“It’s impossible not to worry,” she sniffled. “I love you, my dear, I truly do. Out of all my accomplishments, you will always be my greatest.”

 

     Jeimos cracked a pitiful smile. “I’m sorry to hear that,” they jested dully. Tarajeen tapped their arm.

“Stop that,” she said. “I mean what I say. Do you understand why I get cross with you? Why I set so many rules and why I get so upset when you break them?”

 

     “I don’t understand why you do half of what you do…” grumbled Jeimos.

Tarajeen chose to ignore that and went on, “I get upset because I’m _scared_ , Kaseen. Not because I’m angry. And all the rules, they are only there to protect you. I protect you because I love you. You should know this by now, but time and time again I must repeat myself!”

 

     The elf’s legs were quivering. They needed water, food, and sleep in that order. But more than all that, they needed to get to their next class to keep their future from slipping through their grasp. Things would be different when they had their own income, when they were working as a Class 1 portal technician at the Iron Spire and living it up in the Star Sector.

 

     Tarajeen and Ojio would have no say in their life then. What name they used or what magic they practiced. Jeimos dragged a clammy palm over their equally clammy face and murmured, “I have to get to class.”

Their mother quirked her brows, tilted her head to the side. “Are you quite sure? I’ve already called in for you.”

“Yes. I have to.”

 

     The elf’s bags were still sitting by the door where they’d left them yesterday. They pulled them onto their shoulders and picked up their keyboard case. Just as they opened the door, Tarajeen said, “Do you promise you’ll be back? No more running off?”

 

     “I promise. I’ll be back tonight,” said Jeimos, and the door clicked shut behind them.

 

*

 

     Jeimos put a coin into the vending machine and a cookie came out. Then Jeimos put the cookie into their mouth and vomit came out. Hours passed and the terrible sickness remained. It was only getting worse by the minute. The elf’s body trembled incessantly and they could hardly focus on the coursework before them.

 

     They longed for that feeling of euphoria again, when their ache in their body, the sorrow in their heart and the anxiety in their brain gave way to nothing but pure bliss. It was the most relaxed, the most _okay_ Jeimos had ever felt in their life. Today their piano teacher made them leave half-way through the class after they spewed over the keys.

 

     Now Jeimos was loitering around with two hours before their next appointment. They sucked down bottle after bottle of water, swallowed headache medicine, tried to nourish themselves with more snacks…But it seemed nothing could make this feeling go away.

 

     Nothing except pyre dust, Jeimos realized, and thought perhaps they could pick up another half-dose to get them through this. The world was spinning under their feet, their soul so burdened with grief from losing Felice. They were desperate to simply feel okay again. A pinch of pyre dust didn’t kill them last time and it surely wouldn’t kill them this time.

 

     So the elf found themselves back in the Shadow Sector, lugging all their bags down the dark alley across from the abandoned liquor store. Last time they were here they had Felice by their side, and that made everything hurt so much more. They removed the sewer cover and replaced it before descending the ladder. They had to make this quick and get to their next class.

 

     The Gutter Sector looked just the same as it did last time. Red elves in rags meandering about aimlessly, filthy and emaciated. Rats scurried across the walkways. Jeimos quickly averted their eyes when they saw someone drop their pants and squat over the water channel.

 

     A red elf burst into flame and lit up the dark tunnel like a firework. They didn’t scream or panic, simply lied down on the walkway and let their cheap cotton clothes burn away. Jeimos turned as a second elf ignited across from them. This one lied down as well, kept far away from the wooden shacks until their fire eventually fizzled out.

 

     These individuals were covered in angry red sores, scrawny as old corpses with fried, frizzy hair. Jeimos wouldn’t be like them. It was foolish to take so much pyre dust, to let themselves become this sick and pathetic. They must have nothing to live for, Jeimos thought, but they themselves did.

 

     Jeimos had a future to look forward to. They just needed a little help making it there in one piece. So they made their way to the light at the end of the Gutter Sector where a small crowd was once again gathered at the metal grate. Jeimos pushed their way through, but Sebastian was nowhere to be seen.

 

     They turned to an elfenne beside them and asked, “Where is the boy?”

“Sometimes he runs a few minutes late,” the elfenne slurred. She had even less teeth than Lorio. “He comes five days a week, between high sun and midnight. Leaves to resupply for a bit, maybe. But he comes back. Always comes back. He’ll be back soon! Very soon!”

 

     Her fingers twitched at her sides, gaunt face smiling hopefully. Jeimos slowly nodded, took a step back and waited with the others. But they weren’t like these vagrants. They would get one small dose just to soothe their grief and then they would never set foot in this rat-hole again.

 

     Just as the junkie said, Sebastian returned within the next ten minutes. Jeimos saw one leg reach down from the top of the pipe, followed by a second, then there he was—hanging from the top ledge with a backpack on his back. Sebastian swung himself forward and clumsily landed on the walkway. Just a few inches to the right and he would have landed in the putrid water dumping down into the river.

 

     Excitement bubbled through the mob of junkies as they shoved themselves closer to the grate. They stuck their hands through the gaps, waving paper bills and handfuls of coins at the boy. Jeimos was too shy to get into the fray. They stood aside and waited, but it only took a few minutes until every junkie was served. Sebastian was very swift in his transactions, passing the vials and swiping the cash all in one movement.

 

     Then the crowd dissipated like smoke, running back down the tunnel with their vials. Jeimos stepped up to the grate, wearing an anxious smile. Their ears felt hot. Sebastian kneeled beside his backpack, looking up at them with his brow furrowed. “Hey. I know you,” he said slowly. “You’re my grandma’s friend, aren’t you? Jeimos?” The boy stood up and clutched the grate. “She was supposed to visit me last night but she never showed up. Do you know where she is?”

 

     He was so young. To an elf, practically a baby. Jeimos couldn’t lie and so they hesitated with their response. Finally they offered him a truthful, “I don’t. I’m sorry.” They cleared their throat and continued, “I’m just here for some of that, er… _Medicine_ of yours.”

 

     Shooting them a strange look, Sebastian queried, “Pyre dust? I thought you didn’t do that.”

“I don’t! I mean, I did. Just once!” the elf floundered. They palmed at their sweaty face. “Please. I feel _dreadful_. I’m just looking for a tiny dose, the smallest you have. I’m not a…A _junkie_ or anything, I assure you.”

 

     The boy narrowed his eyes, looking doubtful. After a silence, he shrugged and told them, “I only have one size here. Mr. Medicine has the shorties, you’ll have to talk to him.” As if Jeimos had time to hunt down Torogio when their next class started in twenty minutes.

 

     Jeimos let out a grunt of frustration, fishing some bills from their pocket. “Nevermind then,” they said. “How much for a vial?”

“Twenty-five.”

The elf passed the bills through the grate. In one smooth motion, Sebastian slapped a vial in their palm and swiped the bills. Jeimos examined it, asked, “So I just fill it with petrol?”

 

     “Yup.” Sebastian nodded. “Up to the brim. You want a half-dose, pour some dust out and fill it half-way.”

The elf’s eyes flashed up at him, like embers in the darkness. “Have you ever used this stuff yourself?”

And the boy shook his head, replied, “Nah. I mean, I _tried_ once, but all it did was make me sick. I think it only works on you guys. Uh, you red elves, I mean.”

 

     Jeimos slowly nodded. “Well, I have an appointment soon,” they said. “Thank you, Sebastian.”

“Yeah. Thank _you_. I made good sales today.”

 

     As they turned to leave, the boy spoke up again. “Oh, um, if you see my grandma…Will you tell her to come visit? I’m worried about her.” Jeimos briefly stopped in their tracks, a terrible pain stabbing at their heart. Their whole chest felt cold and empty.

 

     “Sure,” they told him. “I am too.”

 

*

 

     Jeimos had never seen metal canteens for sale at a petrol station. At least not until they came to the Shadow Sector. They spent the last of their allowance on one and the petrol to fill it, then stuffed it in their pocket and scurried to the monorail station. Everything hurt so badly. Their body, their head, and their soul.

 

     Slogging into the station bathroom, Jeimos shut themselves in a filthy stall and fumbled through their pockets. There were a couple elfenne in here. Jeimos crouched over the squat-toilet and flushed half of the pyre dust away. They hesitated when opening the canteen. The stench of petrol would be too obvious.

 

     So they waited. And waited. And waited for nearly ten minutes until the bathroom was completely empty, then they splashed petrol into the vial and gave it a shake. The mixture fizzed and sparkled like glitter in the vial, and in a flash it was sliding down the elf’s throat.

 

     The burn was terrible. But it was a relief too, because Jeimos knew in just a minute or so they would be feeling much better. They disposed of the vial in the trash, quickly left the bathroom and realized they missed their monorail. They waited ten minutes more for the next, and by now they were surely going to be late to their language class.

 

     But by the time Jeimos arrived, they had no anxiety about that at all. They stumbled off the train in a stupor, lips stretched into a wide, blissful grin. Who cares if they were a half-hour late for an hour-long class? It was only one time. And now without a single troublesome thought in their head, they could truly focus on their work.

 

     Jeimos spoke Universa, the official language of the Damijana Empire. But thanks to their years of language practice, they were fluent in eleven other tongues as well. Now they could remember none of them as they sat through the last half of their Noala lesson. They stared at their workbook, fixated on the same word for twenty minutes until their mentor called upon them.

 

     For what? Jeimos hadn’t a clue. They blinked their bloodshot eyes and giggled, “Yes?”

“Miss Paramonimos,” the mentor repeated for the third time, voice rough with irritation, “come to the board and correct this sentence!”

 

     The command finally penetrated Jeimos’ fog. They got to their feet at once, knocking their book to the floor in the process. They didn’t even notice the loud thump or the splash of papers.

 

     They just swayed up to the board, swinging their arms a bit too much, legs wobbly beneath them. They looked at the Noala sentence written in chalk. They may as well be looking at a child’s scribbles and they thought that quite funny, so they broke into a fit of giggles while the class giggled behind them.

 

     Their mentor crossed his arms, waiting impatiently. Jeimos clumsily tapped their finger on each word and read them one at a time aloud. They had done quite well, they thought, and they turned around to give a dramatic bow to their peers. Their big grin was only irritating their mentor more.

 

     “I didn’t say ‘read it’,” he told them, “I said ‘correct it’! What is wrong with this sentence? Pick up the chalk and fix it!”

“Aaaaaaah, yes. Fix it, yes, yes…” Jeimos slurred and spent entirely too long searching for the chalk that was already in their hand. They took a step back, blinked and furrowed their brow at the board.

 

     The whole thing looked like gibberish. Jeimos could read the words individually, but they weren’t making sense together. They scribbled over the entire thing and dropped the chalk on the floor, then turned to their mentor and said, “It’s _all_ wrong, you tricky devil! You funny thing!”

 

     They burst into wheezing laughter, stooping forward to hold their gut. The class, too, began laughing as the mentor grabbed Jeimos’ sleeve and dragged them towards the door. He opened it and pointed to the hall. “Get out of my class this instant! I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but I am very disappointed in you. Don’t come back until you’re ready to learn!”

 

     That said, he shoved them over the threshold, tossed their bags at their feet, and slammed the door. Under normal circumstances Jeimos would have broken down into a panic attack. But these—these were not normal circumstances. Jeimos was so very heartbroken, yet all they could do was giggle and stagger their way out of the building.

 

     It wasn’t so bad. That class was going to end in five minutes anyway. That just gave them extra time to get to…

 

     Where? Jeimos stopped in their tracks, closed their eyes tightly and tried to remember where they were supposed to be next. Piano lessons? No, they had already done that. Home? No, the sun was still hanging over the Iron Spire.

“Robotics!” they suddenly exclaimed, startling some passersby in the hall. They muttered to themselves as they left so they wouldn’t forget, “Robotics, robotics, robotics…”

 

*

 

     “If you keep breaking your head open like this, your brain will turn to mush and leak out your ears,” Ojio told his child as he rolled them out of the clinic in a wheelchair. This all felt quite familiar, but Jeimos was in too heavy a daze to really think about it.

 

     They reached up and fingered the bandage wrapped around their head. They tried to remove it but Ojio pushed their hand away and told them, “Stop that. As soon as your painkillers wear off, we need to have a serious talk. My boss really doesn’t appreciate me leaving in the middle of the day like this, and your mother…” He paused. His volume dropped as he continued, “She’s struggling enough as it is.”

 

     Jeimos said nothing, just closed their eyes and dreamed away the monorail ride. The world was but a wash of noise and color. The next time their eyes opened, Ojio was lifting them out of the wheelchair and into their bed. He disappeared and Jeimos rubbed their aching skull, squinting at the lantern above.

 

     Coherent thoughts were coming together now. Memories. Emotions. None of which they particularly wanted. Immediately, they were longing for the euphoria of the dust again. When they took the dust, all this hurt and worry dissolved like sugar in water—which was exactly what Ojio was bringing to them in a cup of tea.

 

     Jeimos leaned their back against the headboard and took a sip. Cinnamon tea with extra sugar, their very favorite. But somehow it just didn’t satisfy them now. After tasting the pyre dust, they weren’t sure anything else could satisfy them ever again.

 

     They could remember what happened now as all the little bits came together. Robotics class. They were kicked out for “behavioral issues”. Then piano class. But they weren’t supposed to be there, so they were kicked out for the second time that day. Then aerobics class, where they realized they’d forgotten their gym bag back on the monorail and sprinted back to get them.

 

     As it turned out, sprinting and drugs were a bad combination. Jeimos took a nasty fall in the middle of the station and knocked themselves unconscious, earned a throbbing welt on their head. Someone must have called emergency services, for when they woke up they realized they were in the clinic before painkillers knocked them out again. Now they were home.

 

     It had been quite a day.

 

     Ojio sat on the edge of the bed, slumped over with his elbows on his knees. They sat together in silence for a long moment. The tea was disappointing. Jeimos put it on the side table and waited for their scolding. Their face was heavy with many emotions, none of them pleasant.

 

     Finally Ojio pushed up his glasses, straightened his back and began, “The clinician said she found trace amounts of dragonsalt in your system.” Jeimos’ gaze flashed to their father, stomach tightening like a vice. He continued, “I bought her silence. And I’ll have you know, Kaseen, it was _not_ cheap.”

 

     He removed his glasses and turned to them, brow furrowed in anger above eyes brimming with fear. “Now, I will not jump to conclusions. I want to believe my daughter would know better than to fool about with very illegal, very _dangerous_ substances…” His worry grew too heavy, sagged his angry brows. “But I also can’t bear to think she was in a situation where such substances were forced upon her.”

 

     Ojio closed his eyes, sighed once more and shook his head. Jeimos sat on the other end of the bed like a statue as sweat began to glisten on their brow. He turned to them again and asked, “Will you tell me what happened today?”

 

     His child wouldn’t—couldn’t—meet his gaze. They stared down at their black socks, wringing their hands in their lap for nearly a minute. Ojio hesitated, then added, “Whatever it is, I promise I will not tell your mother. We’ll keep it between us and we’ll sort it out together. Okay?”

 

     Only then did Jeimos’ weary eyes meet his, and only for a moment. They picked up a stuffed bear and anxiously squeezed it, took in a deep breath. “Okay,” they said. “I…It was my idea. Nothing was forced upon me. It was my own stupid, _stupid_ decision to take that stuff. I’m sorry, Dad. It was a terrible mistake, I realize that.”

 

     Ojio’s expression sank with disappointment. He scrubbed at his face and nodded, had no choice but to accept it. He replied, “I see. Well, thank you for telling me. May I ask why you did such a thing? It’s so unlike you, Kaseen. I know you’re smarter than that.”

 

     “Intelligence has nothing to do with it. I’m _miserable_ , Dad,” Jeimos blurted, sinking down onto their back. “Missing Felice is like missing a piece of my heart. I’m so beside myself that I can hardly function. What Mum did to her was vile! Absolutely unforgivable!”

 

     Ojio frowned. “I know your mother is, eh…Quite difficult at times,” he admitted. “But you know it’s not her fault. She certainly didn’t ask to be the way she is any more than we did.”

 

     His child threw their hands over their eyes and groaned, “That doesn’t justify anything! Mum’s a damn lunatic and I’m not willing to live like this anymore! Her madness is going to take everything from us!”

“That isn’t so! She has her moments, but she’s still putting food in your mouth and a comfortable roof over your head. She manages to do all that despite her suffering, so you need to show her more respect.”

 

     Jeimos suddenly pitched a pillow across the room, growled, “I would rather starve in the damned gutter if it meant having Felice back! I would trade Mum for her any day!”

“Kaseen Jeimos Paramonimos!” their father barked, pushing up his glasses. “That’s a terrible thing to say and you know it! Felice served us for many years, yes. I know you were close to her...”

 

     He pointed his index finger for emphasis. “But let’s not forget that despite her _issues_ , your mother is a highly skilled criminal investigator. She has served the Eyes of Damijana since before Felice’s birth, so don’t be so quick to doubt her judgment. Felice _is_ a commoner after all, and commoners can speak blatant untruths on a whim. They are not like us, and so we cannot trust them as we can trust our fellow fae.”

 

     Crossing their arms over their chest, Jeimos lifted their head just to glare at their father. “Oh? And you believe _Mum_ can be trusted in all her lunacy?” they asked. Ojio’s frown carved itself deeper, turned into a scowl.

“Enough,” he said sharply. “You will not speak ill of the elfenne who sacrificed everything for you. She is not a malicious person. Whatever she’s done to Felice, she did it with the intention of protecting our family and nothing more.”

 

     He leaned his palms on his thighs and continued, “You don’t realize how fortunate you are, Kay. I would have never escaped the Middle Sector had I not married Tarajeen. You’ve never known what it’s like to go without since the day you were born, and we work our hands to the bone to make sure you never find out.”

 

     After a brief pause, he went on, “I realize now that such an upbringing has spoiled you. You take everything for granted. But I tell you, you are entitled to none of it.” He shook his head a little. “Perhaps that was our mistake. Regardless, I want you to be more appreciative of your life and stay on the right path, because clearly you don’t realize just how easily you could lose it all.”

 

     Jeimos let out a miserable groan. They rolled over onto their stomach, buried their face into a stuffed sheep. Ojio just didn’t get it. He would never understand, for Jeimos’ greatest pains were secrets meant only to fester inside them. This entire conversation was a waste.

 

     They clutched their aching skull and mumbled against the sheep, “I feel awful enough without you picking at me. Just leave me alone.”

A hopeless sigh gusted through Ojio’s nostrils. He reached over, stroked his child’s wild mop of hair. Then he stood up and headed for the door.

 

     Before he left, he told them, “We do love you, your mother and I both. Don’t make us worry like this anymore.”

 

*

 

     The next day, Jeimos was told to stay in bed. They spent all day writhing in agony. Everything they ate just came back up. They felt just as they had yesterday, a terrible sickness and an even worse sorrow overcoming them. As far as Tarajeen knew, they had simply “taken a fall at the station” and all their misery stemmed from their injury.

 

     Of course that wasn’t so. Only Jeimos knew what could make them feel better, and they were so desperate for it that they stole cash from their mother’s bag and sneaked out to the Shadow Sector before sunfall. The welt on their head hardly mattered when the rest of them felt so much worse. They slipped on a black brimless hat to hide their bandages.

 

     It was as if daytime didn’t exist in the Shadow Sector. Time was but a suggestion here, and so its nightlife bustled at all hours. The more Jeimos came down here, the more they noticed how “selective” the Guard presence seemed to be. They showed up only to cart someone off, and then they disappeared as quickly as they came.

 

     Officers patrolled all day and night in the higher sectors, practically choking every corner. Clearly they had the numbers, so Jeimos had to wonder why the empire didn’t post them in this shady place where they were needed most. It was as if crime here was left to breed, and every so often the Guard would come collect a lamb to slaughter.

 

     It all worked to Jeimos’ benefit when they waltzed into the Gutter Sector and bought a vial of pyre dust completely unnoticed. Unnoticed by everyone except their cousin Lorio, who stopped them just as they were turning to leave the grate.

“Kay-Kay? That you?” he queried, squinting in the darkness.

 

     Jeimos froze, felt too ashamed to turn and face him. So he walked in front of them, eyes rounding when he saw their face. “It is! What are you doing down here?”

“What are _you_ doing down here?” his cousin snapped back. Lorio’s mouth spread into a gummy smile.

 

     “Just visiting my ladyfriend,” he said.

Jeimos quirked an eyebrow. “You have a ladyfriend?”

“Yeah. Sometimes two, if I got the cash!” Lorio shocked the air with a clap, bursting into laughter as Jeimos rolled their eyes. Then he queried, “Hey, I didn’t see you doin’ business with Seb, did I?” And before Jeimos could react, he quickly snatched the vial out of their pocket.

 

     Lorio held it up between his fingers, smile falling to a scowl. He hissed, “Kaseen, are you serious? After all I’ve been through, you decide to go messin’ with this shite? Really now!” Jeimos snatched the vial and stuffed it back in their pocket.

“You have no idea what kind of pain I’m in,” they told him sharply. “It’s the only thing that makes me feel better.”

 

     Lorio’s brows shot up. “Not cigarettes? Not alcohol, not gambling, not _anything_ else? You just decide to cope with the absolute worst thing possible, huh?”

“Leave me alone,” Jeimos grumbled, pushing passed him and storming towards the ladder to the surface.

 

     Lorio chased them down and clutched their sweater, stopped them in their tracks. “Kay,” he began, “you fell for Torogio’s game hook, line, and sinker. That’s what he _does_ , do you get that? He gives suckers a little taste and gets ‘em hooked! You’re being played like fiddle and if you don’t stop now, your life’s gonna turn to shite so fast your damn head will spin!”

 

     Jeimos rubbed their head as they replied, “My head’s already spinning. It’s not how you think, Lorio. I’m not a _fiend_. I just take a half-dose here and there. It’s not like I’m putting away vials like you put away shots!”

 

     “Yeah, that’s how it always starts,” their cousin told them with a roll of his eyes. “You’re a classic case if I ever saw one. You need to quit now while you still got some teeth left. This stuff is addictive like water to a fish. Even a tiny pinch will make you think you’re dyin’ without it, but if you can stay clean for just three days I swear it gets better.”

 

     Jeimos stood in silence, considered it for a long moment. The jitters in their nerves, the pain in their atoms, the anxiety in their head was urging them all the while. It urged them to hurry and get out of this place, suck down the vial and stop all the noise. “Fine,” they said. “This is my last dose. I never intended to keep using this stuff anyway.”

 

     Lorio’s expression sank. “No one ever does.”

 

*

 

     Jeimos managed to get home before their parents did, sober and miserable during the whole journey. They rushed straight to the bathroom, boots and hat still on in their urgency. They switched the fan on, hoped it would do away with the petrol vapors as they bit the cork off the vial.

 

     The toilet was like a round porcelain bar stool. It had a lid like that which covered a cooking pot. Jeimos lifted the lid and tipped the vial to dispose of half the dose. They found themselves frozen there, unable to actually do it. The vial hovered precariously, threatening to drop the first grain.

 

     The elf thought better of it. They instead poured half the dose into a paper cup, filled the vial with petrol and drank it down. The vial was rinsed, remaining dust returned, and then corked. Jeimos flushed the paper cup and scoured their bedroom for a place to stash the vial.

 

     _Just in case_ , they told themselves. Just because they had it didn’t mean they had to _use_ it. Only if things got truly unbearable. An emergency situation.

 

     One of their teddy bears had a red heart sewn between its hands. Perfect. Jeimos cut a slit in the back of the heart with scissors, pulled out most of the stuffing and stashed the vial inside.

 

     They had to hide it well because once in a while, Tarajeen would come unhinged and tear apart their room in search of “pixie agents”. But surely this was too obscure, even for their mother at her most paranoid. The canteen was innocuous enough. They set it on their desk among the other random things they couldn’t be bothered to put away.

 

     Jeimos spent the rest of the afternoon in total relaxation. No pain, no sadness, no worries. This euphoria was the only time they felt okay in their own skin, when the disconnection between their mind and body just didn’t matter. In this state they were truly at peace with everything, including themselves.

 

     By the time their parents came home, the elf had already “fallen asleep”.

 

     And when they woke, terrible withdrawals had mercilessly consumed their euphoria. Every ring from their alarm clock was like a hammer to Jeimos’ head. They moved to shut it off and their clumsy, jittery fingers knocked it to the floor. When they stooped over to pick it up, vomit spilled onto their feet and the force of it sent them toppling into their own mess.

 

     _So_ , they thought miserably, _this was the forecast for the next three days_ …

 

     No. They had a full schedule today and the symptoms were worse than ever. This was unacceptable. Jeimos pulled the vial out of the stuffed bear and staggered into the bathroom with the canteen stuffed under their shirt. They could hear their parents rushing about outside the door, getting ready for work.

 

     Of course the elf felt awful, trying to quit so abruptly. So they had a brilliant idea: they would take only a quarter-dose and wean themselves off gradually. They pulled another paper cup off the stack and measured with their eyeballs. A quarter-dose went down and then they stuffed the paraphernalia under their clothes, rushed back down the hall.

 

     They jumped with a start as Tarajeen passed them. She didn’t stop or pay them a second glance, however, just rounded the corner as she clipped on her earrings. She called from the sitting room, “How is your head today, my dear?” and Jeimos hesitated for entirely too long before answering,

“I’ll feel better soon, don’t worry!”

 

     “I do hope so,” Tarajeen’s voice responded. “I’ve got to run or I’m going to miss my train. Love you!”

Jeimos swallowed the bile in their throat. “Bye, Mum.” They heard the front door open and close. Ojio was still in the kitchen finishing his coffee. He would leave in about seven minutes. It was all routine like clockwork.

 

     This was hardly routine for Jeimos though, and now they were going to be late if they didn’t hurry. All this mucking around with the pyre dust and cleaning up their own vomit cost them half an hour. They threw their sick-stained shirt in the trash and slipped on another, wearing the same pants and boots from yesterday because they hadn’t remembered to change into pajamas.

 

     There was no time to shower or comb their hair. They looked a hot mess as they rushed to the monorail station. They hadn’t the energy to run and realized they forgot to eat breakfast too. “ _Damn it_ ,” they grumbled under their breath as they made a detour to the vending machine.

 

     They turned out their pockets. Empty. Of course, because the last of their allowance had gone to pyre dust. Speaking of which, the quarter-dose was doing nothing. Actually, it was. It was making Jeimos feel _worse_. Their system was left unsatisfied, like a sneeze clinging in the nose.

 

     The elf’s knees wobbled, threatened to give way. They were so weak, so sick, so deeply upset. They let out a growl as they slammed their fist against the vending machine. The snacks stayed securely in place. They gave it a kick, but the machine had about five hundred pounds on them and they only pushed themselves onto their behind.

 

     Some surrounding people whispered and snickered. Jeimos raked the mop of uncombed hair from their face and saw their monorail leaving. “No!” they shrieked, struggling to their feet, chasing it down until they felt they would faint. They willed their last shred of energy into their hands and they glowed with magic.

 

     Then Jeimos clapped them together and disappeared in a burst of light. People around them gasped, looking all around for the missing elf until 3 seconds later, when they reappeared just inches from the train car. They reached for the door, missed, tumbled to the ground in a heap.

 

     Had they a little more energy and expertise, they might have successfully teleported inside the train. But here they sat on the ground as their ride left them behind; a pyre dust junkie and a soon-to-be Arcanum flunkie.

 

     “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me! Damn it! Shite, shite, _shite_!” Jeimos panted, stomped their boot to the pavement with every exclamation and then stormed away. They punched a metal lamppost on their way out of the station. Now their hand hurt and their knuckles were raw. _Bloody genius_ , they thought with such self-loathing, it was tempting to throw themselves onto the train tracks right then.

 

     But they couldn’t—not when three more quarters of pyre dust waited for them back home. Today was a bad day. Too much going on. They would run home and take the dose, and by the time they came back the next monorail would arrive. Then they would have no dust and no money, and then they could truly quit.

 


	3. Irontree

##  **[CHAPTER 3: IRONTREE]**

 

     A week passed. An absolute disaster of a week.

 

     Whatever Jeimos said about “quitting” pyre dust, they could look back and laugh. Or not, because they were completely miserable every second they weren’t on the stuff. And the longer they continued to use it, the more intense the withdrawals became.

 

     Half-doses were losing their effect. They just didn’t quench the elf’s system anymore. Late this afternoon they’d taken their first full dose, and now they were meandering aimlessly around the Shadow Sector in a haze. Did they have a class to go to? Who knew? Not Jeimos. Not anymore.

 

     As if it mattered, considering just how many classes they missed this week. Their grades were starting to tank. Their mentors were becoming concerned. But Jeimos was too old for these mentors to be contacting their parents about it—despite Tarajeen and Ojio footing the bills. Someday everything was due to fall apart. Not a matter of “if”, but “when”.

 

     Tarajeen was clueless. For a “highly skilled criminal investigator” she was sure blind to her child’s bizarre behavior as of late, chalking it up to their head injury and stress. Her real concern was the money that kept going missing from her bank account. After first throwing a fit at the bank tellers, Tarajeen was now blaming the Zareen pixie agents who lived in their walls.

 

     When she ranted to Ojio about it, he suggested that perhaps she’d spent her own money and forgotten about it. In all her madness, it wasn’t unlikely. He was as absent as ever, showing up only when someone called him away from work because his child broke their head open or some such thing. He hadn’t assumed anything out of the ordinary yet.

 

     But that couldn’t last forever, not at the way things were quickly spiraling down. Lorio was right, Jeimos realized. He was right and the situation had slipped out of their control so fast, their head was spinning and they had no idea where to turn. They were sneaking out every night to buy from Sebastian, and on nights when Sebastian was away they bought from Mr. Medicine at an outrageous, inflated price.

 

     Jeimos found themselves at the Shadowlight Inn once again. It was the place they hemorrhaged cash on Mr. Medicine’s wares, and then they would go into the filthy, run-down bathroom to consume it. They were high as the stars now, wearing a big grin as they stumbled back out into the tavern.

 

     People were talking all around. The dusty bulbs dangling from the ceiling glowed like red elven eyes in the shadows. How pretty it was, and how pretty this rusty concrete box of a tavern was. And how pretty Jeimos was, apparently, when someone approached them and told them so.

 

     He stood only as high as Jeimos’ waist, a burly dworf with red hair and golden skin. His beard was robust and unkempt with bone beads braided in. His words were a discordant wash of noise until the elf heard “How about twenty gold pieces?” and they could certainly get behind that.

 

     So they followed him through their haze, back, back, all the way back to the end of the hall. He dragged them into a room much like the one Jeimos stayed in before, with one rickety cot and a metal side table. Jeimos wobbled, nearly fell over, blinking to clear their vision.

 

     Where were they again? Who was this charitable dworf and when would he be giving them their money? Jeimos held their hand out for their donation, quickly discovered the stranger wasn’t as charitable as they thought. He expected something in return. That’s why he seized their hand and threw them onto the cot.

 

     The wind was knocked from Jeimos’ chest as their back hit the pathetic excuse for a mattress. Dworfs were so much stronger than they looked, and so much heavier too, Jeimos discovered as he pinned them down not a second later. He seized the neck of their pyriad hair sweater and pulled, tried to rip it away.

 

     He didn’t get far. Not before Jeimos screamed and suddenly burst into flames. The dworf’s beard, his long hair, his cotton clothes—every inch of him lit up like a bonfire. He reeled back and threw himself onto the concrete floor, rolling back and forth as he howled in agony.

 

     Jeimos sat up on the burning cot, shaking hands clutching the front of their sweater. Everything around them was cast in an orange glow, yet they felt nothing but pleasant warmth. Not like the stranger, whose red hair was blackening before their eyes.

 

     This seemed like a bad situation. Jeimos didn’t want to be here anymore. When their fire fizzled out, their wobbly legs carried them out the door and they fumbled their way down the hall. They passed through the tavern where the music was loud and the people were louder. The dworf’s screaming was barely a whisper.

 

     Should they talk? Who to talk to and what to say? Jeimos looked all around, became overwhelmed by all the faces and chatter. No, it was impossible. Their tongue would hardly make words anyway.

 

     So they left. They scurried out of the building and far, far away. To the elevator. To the monorail station. They flashed their pass without a word and boarded the train. They were shaking and shaking and just couldn’t stop. Then finally they were back in the Sun Sector. After that, their neighborhood, and then home.

 

     Mum and Dad were still at work. When they came home Jeimos would be “asleep” again, exhausted from all the classes they never attended.

 

*

 

     Jeimos woke in the middle of the night. They saw an elfann’s face above them, his hands grasping their shoulders. Their shriek pierced the air and they flailed their limbs, punching, kicking, slapping at…

 

     Their own father. Ojio reeled back and straightened his glasses, all knocked askew.

 

     “Kaseen!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been trying to call you for hours! How could you possibly sleep through all that ringing?”

The elf’s groggy, addled brain was lagging about ten seconds behind. They stared back at him slack-jawed through bloodshot eyes. Their response took too long, so he just continued in a panic, “The Guard took Tarajeen! Snatched her right out of the Iron Spire this evening!”

 

     In an instant, Jeimos’ tired eyes rounded like dinner plates. Anxiety gave their heart a kick and sent it tumbling in their chest. All they could manage was an exasperated, “ _What_?”

“They won’t give me a straight answer,” Ojio explained, pacing about as he raked his fingers through his mussed ponytail. “Damned typical! They won’t tell me where they’ve taken her, for how long, or for what! I only found out because one of her coworkers contacted me about it!”

 

     Jeimos tore their blankets away and wobbled their way out of bed, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. “W-what do we do?” they asked. Their voice quivered with the rest of them.

Ojio shook his head and replied sharply, “I don’t know! I already went to the Guard Station and they won’t tell me anything.”

 

     He paused as he took off his glasses, pushed his fingers into his eyes. Then he took a deep breath, put them back on. He continued more slowly, “It’s possible that she had one of her, eh… _Episodes_. At work. Frightened someone, perhaps.”

“Dad, they’ll realize she’s sick! They’ll—they’ll banish her!” Jeimos stammered, wringing their hands as they bounced with anxiety.

 

     Ojio whipped his head towards them, snapped, “I’m quite aware of that!” Taking another deep breath, he calmed his tone once more. “But let’s not forget, she’s also a close friend of Chieftess Serafeen. Serafeen is the highest authority in Damijana, and it’s possible she might make an exception. Your mother is a very valuable asset to Project Starlight.”

 

     He clasped his hands together, brow sagged with worry. “I need you to do something very important. Go to the Iron Spire first thing in the morning and ask to speak with Serafeen. Tell them you’re Tarajeen’s daughter. Dress your best and make a good case for her.”

 

     “Me? Why? Dad, that’s terrifying! The bloody _Chieftess_? I can’t--!”

“You must, Kaseen! I couldn’t even make it passed security, but you share your mother’s blood. Your presence will go much further with them.”

 

     Ojio cradled their face in his hands. “You must try,” he told them. “For your mother, for me, for your future. _Please_.”

 

*

    

     Going back to sleep was not an option. Jeimos scrambled around, trying to make themselves look decent and conjure up a case for Tarajeen until sunup. After a much needed shower, they switched into clean clothes—the feminine type they hated but Tarajeen would love—and sat down at their desk with a pen and paper.

 

     They were so exhausted. Nervous. Distraught. Their hand shook so much they couldn’t draw a straight line, much less write legibly. This wasn’t going to happen. Jeimos pushed the notebook off the desk and thumped their head down into their arms.

 

     How could they make a case for their mother while their whole being was screaming at them for dust and petrol? And it screamed so loudly, drowning out absolutely everything else. They still had no idea what happened to Felice. The Damijana Guard just swallowed her up like so many others, and now Tarajeen may meet the same fate.

 

     No. Jeimos couldn’t bear it. They already lost one mum and they could not lose another. No matter how dysfunctional Tarajeen may be, Ojio was right about her. She was still the breadwinner of the family and everything would go to pot without her.

 

     As the sun rose over the sector, Jeimos had no choice but to use their own wit to convince Chieftess Serafeen that they did not despise their mother, to make a case for why she should be released back into Damijana despite her plagued sanity. They tried to eat before they left so they would not faint, but it would not stay down. Not until they settled their stomach with pyre dust.

 

     But pyre dust would cripple their mind, turn them into a blathering idiot in front of the highest authority in Damijana. What to do? What in the world to _do_? Weakness knocked Jeimos onto their knees for a brief moment, and then the decision was made for them.

 

     They drank the vial. Then they rushed out the door while cramming a muffin into their mouth, meticulously picking crumbs off their shirt during their ride to the Star Sector. They stepped off the monorail and into the clouds, so high above the city that their addled mind was sure they could reach up and touch the sun.

 

     Guard officers patrolled this sector in roving gangs, some of them riding arcane-powered motorbikes that hummed like bees. Jeimos had never seen so many officers in their life, and walking among them as a crystal fiend was walking among lions as a mouse. The elf concealed their bloodshot eyes with dark, round glasses.

 

     Their behavior, they could not conceal so easily. They made a straight shot to the Iron Spire, no distractions, no foolishness. It was a gauntlet, especially with all these wonderful sights like the sparkling fountains and the lush plastic gardens lining the walkways.

 

     Jeimos simply tried to blend in with the crowd. But they couldn’t keep their legs from wobbling and so they bumped into nearly every person they passed, gathering far more stares and comments than they needed right now. The Iron Spire loomed just ahead.

 

     Jeimos stepped up to the tall double-doors of solid iron. Two officers were posted there with even more posted on the balconies above. They crossed their staffs before the elf and one of them barked, “No entry without proper authorization!”

Jeimos blinked behind their glasses, worked very hard to normalize their voice when they replied, “I need to speak—uh, with Chieftess S-serafeen. Please. I’m the child of Tarajeen Paramonimos.”

 

     The officers shot eachother a glance. Their fae kind couldn’t tell lies, of course. One nodded to the other and they uncrossed their staffs. The iron doors slowly opened with a metallic screech, hinges groaning under their weight. Jeimos jumped as one officer seized their arm and led them through the long corridor.

 

     The interior was strictly utilitarian. Brutalist, concrete, nothing in place that didn’t have to be. Iron doors lined the hall with electric lights buzzing above. The officer took Jeimos into an elevator with doors like an iron cage. They saw every floor flash by as they ascended, each one exactly alike.

 

     The elevator stopped at the very top of the spire, at the only corridor which wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t a corridor at all. It was a single large room with gleaming black floors and walls of amber glass, looking out to the city below. A million tiny lights dangled from the ceiling like stars. Plastic red-leafed bushes sprouted from pots in the corners.

 

     The room was sparsely decorated with fine furniture, seating arranged in a circle like some kind of conference area. At the very back was an open door that led to a balcony. The Guard officer took Jeimos to the center of the room and silently pointed to a chair.

 

     Jeimos’ wasn’t paying attention. They were awestruck by the view outside, how they could see the silhouette of other cities across the barren Arcadian Plains. The officer had no patience for their inattention and roughly shoved them into the chair. “Don’t move,” he said, then he was approaching someone standing on the balcony.

 

     The elf watched the two converse for a moment. They probably should have been nervous, but the pyre dust saw that their legs didn’t shake, that the sweat stayed under their skin. Someone was approaching now. She was a red elfenne dressed in elaborate black robes, her long sleeves dragging along the floor.

 

     She wore a leather headpiece that stuck out the length of an arm on either side like long, pointed ears. Red dots were tattooed under her eyes, lips painted black as coal. Her flame-colored irises seemed to burn right through Jeimos’ soul as she said, “If it isn’t the Paramonimos child. Well, clearly not a child anymore. It’s been a very long time since I last saw you.”

 

     Jeimos furrowed their brow in thought. It must have been, because they could not remember meeting the Chieftess at all. Serafeen’s tone was warm but her gaze was cold. She took a seat across from them and added, “I assume you’re here about your mother.”

 

     “Yes!” Jeimos blurted. Much too loud. They quieted themselves, went on while the officer scrutinized them from across the room, “The Guard must have made a mistake! W-why did they take her?"

Serafeen’s expression remained neutral and cool. She replied, “Tarajeen served the empire for decades. She was a loyal Damijani, a brilliant physicist…”

 

     The elevator buzzed. Jeimos’ eyes flashed towards it, where three more officers were stepping out and posting themselves at the room’s corners. The elf tried to ignore them as Serafeen continued, “…If she were anyone else, I would not even be speaking to you now. My conference is a testament to how much I respected her.”

 

     Her gaze fell just slightly, gloved hands clasped over her lap. “I tolerated much from her that I did not tolerate from others. But even I have my limits, Kaseen, and your mother pushed beyond them when she put Project Starlight at risk. At this point in time she is a hazard to our empire’s security. _That_ is why the Guard took her into custody.”

 

     Jeimos’ shoulders tensed. Emotions were bubbling within them, pushing at the barriers of the dust’s euphoria. They were very likely to start saying things they shouldn’t have, and they did. Such as, “Chieftess Serafeen, my mum started behaving strangely after that explosion years ago. She was exposed to—to weird, uh, magical energies…”

 

     They gestured vaguely with their hands and went on, “This happened right here at the Iron Spire as she worked on Project Starlight. So then, is the empire not responsible for her condition?”

 

     There was a twitch in Serafeen’s expression. A tiny falter, just a flash of discontentment. “There was no confirmation that permanent harm was caused to any of my researchers,” she said.

“There was never an _investigation_!” exclaimed Jeimos. Around them, the officers’ grips tightened on their weapons.

 

     Serafeen raised a hand to calm them, went on, “Regardless, the cause of her behavior is not my concern. My concern lies with Project Starlight and the future of the Damijana Empire. Tarajeen threatens that, and so she must be locked away. For our safety as well as her _own_ safety.”

 

     “So you’ve imprisoned her,” Jeimos said breathlessly. The anxiety was shining through, just behind their dark glasses. Their hands began to quake slightly, a burning, tingling feeling spreading under their skin. “My family will fall apart without her, Chieftess! When will you release her?”

 

     Leaning back in her seat, Serafeen’s robe shifted as she crossed her legs beneath it. She answered calmly, “I cannot say. I can only tell you that I am not optimistic about her recovery, so I suggest you learn to be more self-reliant. Your father is born of a lower sector, but he works hard. He will surely care for you.”

 

     Jeimos’ teeth clenched behind their lips, biting back burning tears. “You’ll never let her out,” they croaked. “I’ll never see her again. You took her away from me just as you’ve taken Felice Duval! Your damned Guard has torn my family—my _life_ —in pieces, Serafeen!”

 

     All four officers stepped forward, enclosing Jeimos in a box formation. The crystal tips of their staffs buzzed with energy. Serafeen’s brow wrinkled. She told the elf, “I would hate to see you locked up with her. I’ve given you more answers today than any citizen deserves to know.”

 

     She pointed to the elevator. “It’s in your best interest to walk out now and meet with me again after you graduate. I promised Tarajeen I would hire you on to Project Starlight when you were qualified, and I do intend to keep that promise. See, my child? The empire is not so cruel.”

 

     Jeimos’ fists tightened at their sides, chest heaving with fury, grief, shock. “I am _not_ your child,” they growled, shooting up from their seat. “And the empire is a bloody prison in itself! I have no future here, nor does anyone else!”

 

     The elf’s skin began to crackle, veins of light spreading from their hands, up their arms, and over every bit of flesh until they burst into flame. “We toil away our whole lives for the benefit of the Star Sector! It’s a sick, sinister game and I will play it no longer!” they cried, charging forward as a furious napalm.

 

     Serafeen’s expression finally changed. Her eyes rounded as she quickly stood up. An officer pulled her behind him while the other three tackled Jeimos. Their flames didn’t harm other red elves and they found themselves being slammed to the floor despite their heat, then pulled back to their feet and dragged towards the elevator.

 

     “Put her away,” Serafeen called to her officers. “ _Indefinitely_. What a bloody shame…You were so close to touching the stars, Kaseen. So very close, but I suppose sickness just runs in the family.”

 

     Jeimos’ furious scream made the windows quiver as they kicked and spit at the officers, still burning like a wildfire. They were nearly to the elevator when they suddenly disappeared in an explosion of light. The officers collapsed in on eachother. They and Serafeen whipped their heads around in confusion, frantically searching for Jeimos.

 

     Seconds later, another burst of light appeared across the room. Jeimos came shooting out of it, tumbling over the floor as their flames died to cinders. The officers hesitated, silent and bewildered. It gave the elf enough time to scramble to their feet and sprint towards the balcony.

 

     “Do not let her escape!” shouted Serafeen, jabbing a finger towards Jeimos. The officers rushed for the balcony. Jeimos looked at them, then at the sky ahead. The city stood below and they had a straight-shot into the void of the Shadow Sector, no walkways or monorail tracks in their path.

 

     Jumping was certain death. But even death was preferable to imprisonment in Damijana, so Jeimos made a split decision and launched themselves over the edge. An officer swiped at them, missed the tail of their coat by an inch. All three watched them fall, down and down, sinking into the shadows far below.

 

*

 

     The Guard called someone to collect a body. But when the officer arrived, there was no body to be found.

 

     For Jeimos used the last of their power to teleport once more, bursting into light like a firework before they could hit the grimy street in the Shadow Sector. They flashed through the invisible plane, the mysterious slipstream of time and space that encircled the globe.

 

     They had the skills to enter this plane, but having never finished their final years at the Arcanum, they lost their command from there. The stream whipped Jeimos about like a leaf in the wind, a force neither cold nor hot, soft nor hard. They flew, tumbled, flailed through the plane until they were cast back into their native dimension.

 

     Exactly _where_ , they had no say. They lacked the power to teleport very far, maybe fifty feet at most. They opened their eyes to the dim artificial light of the Shadow Sector. People on the street stopped, stared wide-eyed at the elf who was just flung out of thin air into a pile of trash.

 

     Jeimos felt a rat scurry over their leg. They were lying on a side street next to a petrol station. They rose to their feet, leaning on a building for support. It took a hefty load of magic just to teleport once, and only thanks to adrenaline did they manage to pull it off twice.

 

     The pyre dust was waning. Their magic seemed to burn through that too. Jeimos squinted as their eyes focused. The petrol station was marked by a neon sign. They knew this station. This is where they came to refill their canteen. The Shadowlight Inn wasn’t far, and that meant the Gutter Sector wasn’t far either.

 

     In the blink of an eye, Jeimos had lost everything just as Lorio said. There was no turning back now, no salvaging this mess they had created. The Shadow Sector would be swarming with Guard officers before long, so the elf pushed their aching, weary body onward.

 

     They made it to the alleyway, made sure no one was watching before they crawled down into the sewer. It was business as usual down here. Junkies roaming about aimlessly while Jeimos’ whole world fell apart around them. Sprinting down the walkway as fast as their wobbling legs would take them, the elf nearly fell into the channel a couple times before they arrived at the grate.

 

     No one was there. Jeimos clutched the metal links, squinted up at the sun. Still too early, Sebastian wouldn’t be here for a couple hours at least. They didn’t have that kind of time. They also didn’t have the energy. Jeimos clenched their teeth, willed a pitiful spark of magic to their hands.

 

     They clapped them together. Their body lit up in a flash of light, faded only briefly. They got a glimpse of the slipstream and nothing more, manifesting right back where they stood. The attempt left them panting but they tried it once more, conjuring magic to their shaking hands and clapping them together.

 

     This time they didn’t even get a peek of the slipstream. A pathetic burst of light flickered around them and then faded away. Jeimos’ legs quaked and they collapsed to their knees, chest heaving with exhaustion. It was no use. They may as well bash their head against the empire’s thick, iron walls and end it all.

 

     Then they heard a sound from above, like shoes scuffling on metal. They looked out through the grate, saw a skinny leg drop from the top of the pipe. Then another. Then they saw Sebastian, swinging his way down and sticking a clumsy landing on the walkway.

 

     “Sebastian!” the elf gasped, fingers clutching the grate once more. The boy’s eyes flashed up at them, wide with surprise.

“Jeimos? Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” He shrugged the backpack off his shoulders and crouched before them. His expression was harried, voice hoarse when he told them, “Listen. This is my last day here. I’m selling off the rest of my stock and then I gotta get out of the plains.”

 

     Jeimos furrowed their brow, head tilting to the side. “What? Why?” they queried.

Sebastian shook his head, scowling as he replied bitterly, “I think the Guard is on to me. Some officer showed up at our house in Viersen and delivered grandma’s ashes to my mom. Said she died in their custody. Wouldn’t tell us anything more.”

 

     The elf’s jaw fell slack, speechless. Sebastian looked them in the eye as he continued, “It was a threat, Jeimos. I need to get rid of this stuff _now_ and leave Zareen Empire. I’m thinking of going south, down to Kingsfall Swamp. Mom already ran off east with her dumb boyfriend. Good riddance…”

 

     His teeth pressed together, holding back the tears that glistened in his eyes. “I ripped my own family apart,” he croaked. “I was just—I was just trying to make things better for us, you know? I didn’t realize this would happen, that it could all come down so fast! The boy took a deep breath and shook his head.

 

     Jeimos reached through the grate and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sebastian,” they began, “I messed up too. I made a terrible mistake not twenty minutes ago and now every officer in Damijana is out for my blood. I can’t go home. I can _never_ go home. I have to get out of the empire before they find me!”

 

     The boy blinked his tears away, brows arched high. “Huh? What did you do?”

“Well…” Jeimos sighed, then they reached through the grate and seized Sebastian’s backpack. Before he could react, they snatched a fistful of vials out and took them out of his reach.

 

     “I did _this_ ,” the elf admitted, biting the corks off the vials before scooping them through the filthy, petrol-slicked channel water. Sebastian shouted something, tried to stop them but it was too late. They sucked down all four vials at once.

“Jeimos, are you crazy?” the boy exclaimed.

 

     The elf immediately began to jitter as they shot to their feet. “Most likely!” they said, and then they raised their glowing hands towards the sky. Sebastian watched in awe as Jeimos clapped, its sound echoing all the way through the Gutter Sector like a shock of thunder.

 

     In that instant a firework of light exploded in their place. They were gone. Junkies turned, stared in confusion, wondered if it had been real or just a figment of their addled brains. Yet in a dimension just parallel to theirs, Jeimos was rocketing through the slipstream of space, screaming like a banshee all the while.

 

     Sebastian peered through the grate, searching inside the tunnel. “Jeimos?” he called. He whirled around as a firework burst in the sky behind him. From the explosion a flailing silhouette dropped. It splashed about thirty feet down into the Kingsfall River below.

 

     Hastily slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Sebastian crawled around the outside of the pipe. There was a precarious seam of metal here that he inched his way down, until he got solid footing on a stack of boulders. An iron wall of Damijana towered behind him as he made his way down the boulders and finally to the ground.

 

     The grass here was sparse and dry, like brittle hairs sprouting from the dusty skin of the earth. It was like that for miles around as the soil in the Arcadian Plains had become too toxic to sustain life. It was truly a wasteland like the empire said, but they neglected to mention all the life _beyond_ the wasteland.

 

     Sebastian pulled Jeimos from the river. The elf coughed up putrid water, bits of plastic and cigarette butts. Pyre dust raged through their system, the only thing that kept them on their feet as the boy walked them down the train tracks. They followed him for about a mile to a tiny village which consisted of one train station, a dilapidated hotel, and a handful of run-down houses.

 

     There were very few red elves here. Jeimos had never seen so many humans and dworfs in one place, had never been a minority before. They would have to get used to the feeling, because now they were on a train to Viersen—one of the biggest cities in Zareen Empire.

 

     It was known to the Damijani as “The Dworfen Empire”.

 

 

*

 

     Jeimos passed out on the train. When they woke, a station attendant was jostling them out of their seat. He was a dworf standing half as tall as Jeimos, yet he picked them up effortlessly and tossed them out like a bag of trash. The elf rolled across the concrete, blinked the blur from their eyes and found themselves at a foreign train station. By the position of the sun, it must have been a couple hours passed noon.

 

     Around them were busy humans, dworfs, and trolls—all commoners with no fae in sight. Their clothes were so colorful, so alien, made of cotton and denim. The city around them was compact like Damijana, but the architecture was not black and severe. The buildings were tall, blocky structures of glass and red brick topped with pagoda-style roofs.

 

     Damijana was a dull, monochrome place. But this city, wherever it was, was like a prismatic explosion that overwhelmed their eyes. The fashions, the neon lights, and the ads—oh, the ads! They were stuck upon every surface imaginable, from the benches to the walls to the sides of the trains, printed in colorful ink, flashing in neon light.

 

     The streets were choked with bicycles and the odd motorbike. This wasn’t unlike Damijana, though it was so much louder with constant shouting and chatter.

 

     Jeimos slowly got to their feet, scrubbing their fingers against their eyes. Memories were piecing themselves together one by one. The elf stumbled to a nearby trash can and spewed spicy red muck from their stomach. Even through the confusion they knew one thing for certain: The next few days were going to be a waking nightmare.

 

     Sebastian was nowhere to be found. The only trace of him was a hastily-scrawled note Jeimos found in their pocket.

 

     _“I have to disappear. Sorry. Train stops in Viersen. Go to Irontree Bridge. Good luck.”_

 

     A crude map was drawn beneath the text, and with it Jeimos eventually made their way to this Irontree Bridge for reasons unclear. They began to understand as they grew closer to the area, noticed how the streets were more run-down with cracks and litter, how the overwhelming colors faded away, and especially as they finally saw faces of their own people.

 

     In this very specific part of the city there were red elves, and plenty of them. The Irontree Bridge was a rusty metal bridge that crossed a stinking, polluted branch of the Kingsfall River. Dozens of tents were set up beneath it, sheltering a group of homeless peoples—mainly red elves.

 

     It was all so surreal. Jeimos had never been outside the walls of their own empire before, and now here they were in Zareen territory with no way of ever going back. It felt like a dream, for the reality that they had lost absolutely everything was fighting against them all the while. It just wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. And given the massive dose of pyre dust they took this morning, it just may not be.

 

     What _was_ real were the jitters in the elf’s body and the sickening feeling washing over them. This was going to get a lot worse before it got better. The scrutiny from commoners on the walk here was enough to tell Jeimos where their place was in Zareen Empire. They had no citizenship, no money, and they were but a lowly fae stuck in a commoner’s microcosm.

 

     Some of the red elves in the Irontree district wore traditional black garb. Others did not. Jeimos had to wonder how many were born here and how many somehow escaped Damijana like they had. There was no energy to cry about what they had lost. Not yet.

 

     For in that moment Jeimos was suddenly consumed by flames yet again. They rushed towards the filthy river and rolled into the brown, garbage-riddled water. The flames were extinguished in a hiss of steam. Now their clothes were soaked, caked in mud and reeking of refuse.

 

     Crawling back to shore, Jeimos curled into a shivering ball, closed their eyes and waited for death to claim them. They weren’t alone for long. Their eyes snapped open when they heard footsteps squishing through the muddy gravel. Someone crouched before them—a red elfenne with sunken cheeks and dark bags lining her eyes.

 

     She must have been quite old, well beyond 150 to have the crags that appeared in her elven skin. Her body was draped in layers of tattered clothes; oversized boots, a long skirt and an even longer brown coat. Her matted hair was tied into a knot. She squinted at Jeimos and in her raspy voice she queried, “Tryin’ to kick the hot sand, are you?”

 

     Jeimos didn’t bother sitting up, didn’t even change expression as they replied flatly, “I’m not trying to do anything but die.” And of all the reactions for the stranger to have, she _chuckled_ , exposing two sets of gums with four teeth between them. She patted Jeimos’ shoulder.

 

     “It’ll make you feel like that, for true!” she said, taking a seat right beside them. “First three days are always a nightmare. I promise it gets better. I’m eighty-three years clean now, but those days will haunt me ‘till I die.” She turned to Jeimos, but they said nothing. Only closed their eyes and quivered.

 

     So the elfenne went on, “I’m Gabreen, by the way. I’ve been hangin’ around in this cesspit for almost a century and your face is a new one to me. What’s your name?”

The elf lied there, face halfway buried in foreign muck. Who cared anymore? “Jeimos,” they muttered.

 

     Gabreen repeated, “Jeimos, Jeimos…That’s an odd one. Are they naming ‘em differently over in Damijana these days? Because back in _my_ day, - _os_ was for middle and last names.”

“I’m neither elfenne nor elfann,” Jeimos told her. “Just…An elf.”

 

     Her eyebrows arched. Jeimos expected questions. Perhaps even a scolding. But nothing of the sort ever came, and instead Gabreen said, “Well, Jeimos, there are better places to die than this disgusting river. Get up, wipe the mud off and come with me.”

 

*

 

     _AUTUMN, 5997_

 

     There was a whole village of vagrants living under the Irontree Bridge. But unlike the vagrants in Damijana’s Gutter Sector, these people were not plagued by pyre dust.

 

     Rather, the drug of choice here seemed to be alcohol. Gabreen lived in this community with her fourth husband, a hulking troll named Borkx, and the two of them dwelled in a shack of sheet metal and stones. Now Jeimos dwelled here with them, at least for the time being.

 

     There was little in the Irontree district that could burn, much less under this bridge. No grass, no trees, no greenery to be found. So Jeimos was free to burn like a match for the next three days, free to vomit in the river without scrutiny because a dozen drunks were doing the same.

 

     The elf had never felt so dreadful in all their 40-something years. But in time the withdrawals passed, and so too did their misery and the pyre dust from their life. They were free, they were sure of it. From the drug, from Damijana, from oppression and tyranny.

 

     For the first time in their life, Jeimos could practice whatever magic they wished without fear. There were plenty of frogs who had become mutated by the chemicals in the Kingsfall River. The elf liked to spend all day catching them and all night trying to transmute their extra limbs away.

 

     The process was slow and not always successful, for there was no one to teach them. Gabreen nor Borkx were the magical types. They spent their days pulling scrap metal from the river and selling it for booze money. They offered Jeimos their roof as they recovered, but now it was time to move on.

 

     The freedom of the Irontree community was nearly oppressive in its own right. There were no aspirations here beyond the next bottle, so Jeimos bid their farewell after a couple years and moved further down the river. They were still no one to the Zareen Empire. Not a citizen, and therefore their education was going to waste as they could find no work.

 

     Jeimos was beginning to understand what Felice had gone through in Damijana. They could not own property here just as she couldn’t there. The commoners were distrustful of red elves and Jeimos was met with harsh scrutiny anywhere outside the Irontree district.

 

     The elf was not exactly a social butterfly to begin with. Despite all they had learned in their life, making friends was beyond them. So they found a little spot atop an abandoned factory, where the fire escape was mangled and buried in rubble, where no one could reach if they weren’t skilled in the fine art of teleportation.

 

     Jeimos made this rooftop into their new home. During the day they went down to the river, pulled up whatever scrap they could find. They used their knowledge of engineering and robotics to fix what was broken, and what couldn’t be fixed was sold to the metal refinery. Dworfs loved their metals and the empire was full of them.

 

     Though they hardly had a coin to their name anymore, Jeimos was living the life every person in Damijana slaved away hoping to achieve. Here they were on top of the city with the open sky above, no one to look down on them. Their days were not strangled by the clock. The elf was free to decide how they spent every minute, so they spent their minutes putting food in their mouth and honing their magic.

 

     Time passed on. Weeks to months, months to years, each one lonelier than the last. Jeimos had only memories to keep them company, for they had become more and more of a recluse since landing in this strange, alien city. It was easy to get in a rut, and that they did for something close to two decades on their rooftop.

 

     Jeimos wasn’t fond of mirrors. Their reflection was a stranger, a body to which their soul didn’t belong. Today as they pulled an old mirror from the river, they saw a wrinkle on the stranger’s face, staring right back at them through the cracked plane. In the blink of an eye, Jeimos had entered the summer of their life.

 

     Early on they decided their mop of long, curly hair was too much to maintain, so they shaved their head bald. Now the stranger was even stranger to them. A new look for a new life.

 

     They picked up a rock and smashed the glass, let the shards rain down into the water. It was the brass frame they really wanted. But when they dragged it back to the old factory that afternoon…Everything else was gone. The entire factory was being demolished by great machines and commoners with hammers.

 

     Jeimos’ hoard was lost in the rubble, now property of whoever had bought this miserable chunk of land. The new life they had started two decades ago, carelessly smashed to pieces by a stranger. Without a word, Jeimos dropped the mirror and walked straight into the downtown area of the Irontree district.

 

     They had a little coin in their pocket. And though they hadn’t swallowed a single questionable substance since they arrived twenty years ago, tonight Jeimos decided they were going to have some hard dworfen liquor.

 

     There was an old tavern here, a hole-in-the-wall kind of place with grubby tables and sour air. But it was cheap and the drinks were stiff, so the elf seated themselves in a corner with their glass, sipping it while they grieved everything they lost and pondered how they could start anew once again.

 

     “Jeimos?” a voice called loudly from the left. Jeimos jumped with a start, spilling some drink on their shabby coat. Standing there was none other than Gabreen, and aside from a few more wrinkles on her face she looked just the same as ever. She squinted at the elf, smiling wide with a single tooth in her head as she said, “It _is_ you! I haven’t seen you in…What? Fifteen, twenty years? Almost didn’t recognize you without all that hair!”

 

     Jeimos forced a smile through their grief, raked a hand over their shaven head. “Glad to see you, Gabby,” they replied. “What have you been up to?”

“Ah…” The old elf hesitated, smile faltering into something strained. She held a near-empty stein in her hand. “Just came back from old Borkx’s funeral. Thought a few drinks would round the edges off the whole thing.”

 

     Jeimos’ brows shot up, then sagged. “Oh, Gabreen, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. Nothing I wasn’t prepared for,” Gabreen replied with a casual wave of her hand, sipping from her stein. “S’what happens when you fancy commoners. They’re short-lived, so you go through ‘em like tissues.” She punctuated the statement with a pained laugh, pulling a dirty tissue from her pocket to dab at her eyes.

    

     Quickly she stuffed it back in her pocket, blinked away the tears and changed the subject. She asked, “What about you? What brings you to this old sty tonight?”

Jeimos lowered their head, let out a long sigh. “Bad fortune, I suppose…” they began. Gabreen slid into the chair across from them. The two conversed while the clock ticked on, as the patrons around them grew rowdier and more intoxicated.

 

     Neither of them had that kind of money right now, didn’t have the luxury of drowning themselves in liquid amnesia to forget their troubles. So they simply talked it out, and Jeimos found that as much as they feared people at times, her simple company filled their heart with warmth.

 

     Gabreen was quite old, however, and began nodding off at the table. Finally she said goodbye with a tight hug. She told the elf, “You’re too brainy to stay in this place. Go make something of yourself.” And with that she left, returning to her little community under the bridge. Jeimos watched her go with a sense of loss, somehow feeling that this would be their last moment together.

    

     By the time they walked out of the tavern, it was well passed midnight. The streetlamps were aglow like stars. Jeimos slinked away into the shadows in search of a new home. There were plenty of abandoned buildings in Viersen to choose from, if only they could find another that wasn’t already infested with junkies.

 

     They passed the alley behind the tavern, a dark and narrow space full of trash and the occasional patron blacked out among it. They heard the rabble of voices and the scuffling of shoes, but that wasn’t unusual. What _was_ unusual was the feminine screech that, not a second later, was abruptly silenced.

 

     Jeimos paused in their tracks. They flattened themselves against the wall and peeked around the corner. Squinting in the darkness, they could see two figures flailing about in a brawl. Dworf on human, it seemed, and the dworf was winning with his great muscle.

 

     Jeimos probably should have left. It was none of their business and they were hardly a fighter.

 

     But seeing this burly dworf attacking a profoundly drunk woman, clamping a hand over her mouth as he dragged her further into the alley…It made the elf’s stomach cramp, made painful old memories come flooding back. They simply couldn’t let such a thing happen!

 

     Tucked away in their pocket were scraps of paper with crude sigils scribbled upon them. They used these to “fix” the mutant frogs from the river, but they would do just fine here. Jeimos crumpled a paper into a ball, charged it between their magical hands and lobbed it into the alley.

 

     It sailed like a glowing grenade and struck the dworf in the back of his long-haired head. Immediately he let go of the woman and turned all around, spotted Jeimos standing by the street. The woman stumbled and fell into a mound of trash as the dworf charged towards Jeimos, growling, “You think you’re funny, hob? You really wanna rumble with _me_?”

 

     Jeimos anxiously wrung their hands, stepping back for every step he took forward. They had never tested a sigil on a person before. Only animals, and most of them stuffed. Half-way down the alley, the dworf stopped. He let out a howl as he crouched down, burying his head in his hands.

 

     The drunk woman staggered over and kicked him while he was down. He sprawled onto the cracked pavement, revealing a hideous amphibian face. His gray skin had flushed swampy-green, covered in bumps. His lips shrank away and his eyes migrated further apart, nose stretching wide between them.

 

     The woman delivered kick after kick and he flailed at her, his screams deteriorating to croaks. Then the woman lost her balance and fell back into the trash. The dworf rose to his stubby legs and sprinted out of the alleyway, shoving passed Jeimos as he went croaking away into the night.

 

     “Serves you right!” Jeimos shouted after him, still wringing their hands with anxiety. They turned to the woman, rising to her feet once more, and took her arm to steady her. “My goodness, are you okay? Did he hurt you?” they blurted. The human pushed her blue hair out of her face. In the dim light of a neon sign, Jeimos realized she was not human at all.

 

     She was a mermaid; once human but cursed with a magical affliction. Jeimos touched on that subject in a book once while they were studying transformation. They knew that if this woman submerged herself in water, her scaly green legs would fuse into a fish tail.

 

     These scales were on her cheeks too, and around them she had golden brown skin, athletic body clad in a short cyan party-dress. Her bleary eyes shifted to Jeimos, pupils as blue as the sea. “That little punk couldn’t hurt me if he tried! S’lucky you showed up before I _really_ hurt him!” she slurred, kicking a dented can out of her path.

 

     Jeimos’ brow was furrowed with concern. “You seem like you’ve had too much to drink.”

The woman scrunched her face and replied, “Naaaaaaah! My crew, now _they_ had too much to drink! They’re already passed out at the inn. Total lightweights! Now I gotta party by myself, isn’t that ssstupid?”

 

     She stumbled forward and Jeimos was quick to hold her up. “Where are you staying?” They asked. “This district is a madhouse at night. I can’t possibly let you walk there by yourself.”

“Uuuuuuh, the Copper Box, up that way. Yeah, let’s go together!” The mermaid pointed in some vague direction. Her blue lips split into a toothy grin as she hooked her arm around Jeimos’ and strutted out of the alley.

 

     After a few steps she asked, “Hey, did I get your name? Maybe I did. Sorry. I’m like, super sloshed…”

“Oh,” Jeimos stammered, “No, my apologies. My name is Jeimos. And you?”

“Alaine Fontaine of Laraine!” the mermaid exclaimed, flashing white teeth as she leaned against them, nearly pushing them both into the gutter.

 

     “That was a fancy trick back there,” she continued. “He’s not stuck like that forever, is he?”

“Well, I’m not very good at that particular school of magic, so…Probably not.”

“Damn.” Alaine snapped her fingers, but the smile never left her face. “See, I wasss on my way back to the inn when he called me into the alley. Short, fat little punk. I thought it was my crewmate, Glen!”

 

     “Crewmate,” Jeimos repeated. “So, you’re a…?”

“Mercenary!” finished Alaine. “I just ssstarted a year ago. We’re still a small team, but the captain is always huntin’ for new guys.” She paused, then turned to the elf and gasped, “You know what our crew needs, Jason?”

“Jeimos, actually—”

“We need a magic person! A, uh—um—a _mage_! You’d be perfect!”

                                                                                     

     The elf quirked their eyebrow. “What qualifies _me_ for being a mercenary? I’m an absolute ninny.”

Alaine bent forward, snorted as she laughed, “Ha, I’m so sure! You know, like, three people walked passed me before you ssstopped to help.” She tapped her palm against their arm with a grin. “That’sss exactly what we’re looking for. Thas’ why we’re called the Freelance Good Guys! ‘Cause we’re like, sssuper good guys who do good ssstuff!”

 

     The Copper Box was just ahead, a cubic brick eyesore with grimy windows and flashing neon signage. “I don’t know,” Jeimos mumbled. “It doesn’t seem very safe. I mean, look at the predicament you were in tonight…”

 

     Alaine waved her hands and replied, “No, no, nononono! Okay, look. Be here tomorrow at uuuummm, noon-ish? Talk to Mr. Atlas. Big muscly guy in a blue cape, can’t miss ‘im. He’ll tell you aaaall about it. Seriously. We need a mage, like, yesterday.”

 

     Jeimos walked her up to the rickety door. It creaked as she opened it. But before she disappeared inside, she pointed her finger at them and said, “Remember: right here at noon! Please, Jadyn? Promissse you will?”

 

     The elf stood before her in their tattered clothes, with a hundred magical scribblings and zero coins in their pockets. The moment they walked away from this inn, they would be drifting aimlessly with nowhere to be.

“I’m _Jeimos_ ,” they told her. “And I suppose I have nothing left to lose...”

 

     With a sigh, they relaxed their tense shoulders and shook out their hands. Then they shot her a nod and decided, “Okay, I’ll be there. I promise.”

 

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you have any feedback don't be afraid to leave a comment. I'm an amateur writer and I'm always trying to improve.


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